Two Steps from Hell
by Amaranth121
Summary: Ulquiorra was a boy who wanted to touch the stars. Orihime was a orphaned girl who lived in the slums. By twists of fate, both cruel and kind, the two eventually meet as enemies. Slowly, but steadily, her hope chips away at the despair he clings to, as well as his deep, dark desire for revenge.
1. Enigmatic Soul

**Each chapter will have a Two Steps From Hell, which is an epic modern classical group/orchestra, song that matches it. The one for this is "Enigmatic Soul" on the album "Invincible."**

**DISCLAIMER WHICH APPLIES FOR THE ENTIRETY OF THIS STORY: BLEACH DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. IT BELONGS TO THE GLORIOUS AND CRUEL TITE KUBO WHO IS BASICALLY THE MOFFAT OF THE ANIME WORLD.**

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><p>A loose bit of rock crumbled beneath his foot and tumbled down the wall of stone. He heard it hit the side of the mountain again and again as it fell, but he did not allow his emerald eyes to look down. He could see the ledge not two meters above him, and if he could make it, he could find a solid rock to tie his rope to and rappel down.<p>

He would make it this time. He would make it higher than anyone from his village had ever climbed before. He would do what no one had ever done, and one day, he would touch the peak of the mountain. He had often wondered if it was as sharp and pointed as his people's drawings had depicted it, or if it would not even draw a single drop of blood from his finger. One day, he promised himself, he would find out.

Reaching upward, he grabbed the next handhold and heaved himself up another half meter. His pale fingers had numbed from cold and pain long ago; he could no longer feel the scrapes and bruises that covered his hands.

Even though it was late in the afternoon, the steady, chilled wind through the massif seeped through his leather outerwear, past his wool tunic and trousers, and straight to his bones. However, he was confident that he would not fall; the mountain would not let him fall. It knew him too well; after all, the boy had been climbing it since he had learned to stand on his own.

The thought caused his lips to twitch in amusement. He had been told the story many times; how, a few days after he had discovered that his legs could support him, he had escaped from his mother, run to the edge of the village, and attempted to join a group of adolescents in the midst of their first climbing lesson.

At last, at only ten years old, he grasped the highest ledge on his side of the mountain. With a quiet, strained grunt of effort, he hoisted himself up. Swinging his legs over the edge, he rolled onto his back and lay on the icy, stone ground. As he looked at the cloudy sky above him, he breathed heavily of the thin air, finally filling his aching lungs with relief.

He groaned as he sat up. "I did it." Removing his fur cap and shaking out his damp, raven-black hair, the boy allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. "I made it."

His muscles throbbed and his neck cramped, but he forced himself to his feet. Turning, he stared out at the vast valley thousands of meters below him. Sparse, flat clouds blocked his view in places, but he could still see the impressive expanse of the dale that his family and neighbors tended. As planting had been a week previous, he could still spy the dark, rich soil that had been re-tilled for sowing after the winter's frost had melted away.

Beyond the few plots of farmland lay the beginning of the forest as it climbed up the eastern mountain (which he had long ago decided was not nearly sloped enough to be a decent challenge). From there, his people gathered the bounty of the forest. Wistfully, he recalled the tart, crisp flavor of the last apple he had eaten the autumn before as if he had just taken the final bite.

Along with the fruit trees and bushes, the woodland housed the herds of horned beasts that migrated into their peaceful valley. Though his village had hunted the deer and elk for the majority of their winter stock, there had been plenty of creatures who had escaped the hunters' arrows, which promised an equally massive herd for the year to come.

At last, past the winding road that ran up and then down the eastern hill, there was the sea. He had only seen it once, and even then, it had been from afar. The crystal blue ocean had spanned beyond his sight, never ending even unto the curve of the earth on the horizon. It had been as glorious and beautiful as it was infinite.

_Yes_, he thought, _this is home_. The lush green valley, the clear azure sky, the bright golden sun, and the grey mountain stone were the palette of his imagination. The base of the summit was his foundation; its height was his dream.

One day, he would reach the top of his mountain, and when he did, he would finally touch the stars of the heavens.

A gentle breeze at his back brought him out of his revelry. Usually, the wind would not catch his attention; it was a distraction from the goal. However, this breeze was strange in one aspect.

It was _warm_.

Curious and mildly alarmed, he turned his emerald eyes to the mountain behind him. To his shock, he found that the wall he had believed to be solid stone had been carved out. A massive cavern, spanning at least thirty meters horizontally and fifty vertically, gaped at him. The sparse light that reached through the clouds illuminated only the entrance of it, and past that lay thick darkness.

The pale boy waited for a long moment. Even though the heated gust did not repeat itself, his intrigue with the phenomenon increased to the point that he could not deny his need to investigate. From the pack of equipment slung over his shoulder, he withdrew an oiled rag; a small, yet suitable brach; and his flint-stone. After tying the rag to the largest end of the branch, he struck the flint several times until the makeshift torch lit.

Aware that the light would not last for more than ten minutes or so, he headed into the cave with swift, yet purposeful steps. The first thing he noticed were that the walls of the cave were smooth. It wasn't just the way that most caves had been smoothed over by water flow; no, it was as if the cave had been _constructed_. It was perfect. The only places where the walls were marred were where water had damaged the unblemished, curved walls or where there were strange, long grooves that seemed to have been made by some sort of massive blade.

Ever curiouser, he ventured deeper and deeper in the depths of the mountain's maw. At some point, he noticed that the path grew wider and wider until he could see neither the ceiling nor the walls in the orange light of the flame. He should have headed back then, but he could not resist the pull to find out where the tunnel ended.

Suddenly, his foot struck something that clinked against the stone floor. Leaning down, his eyes widened at the sight of a large, jagged, uncut ruby that surpassed the size of his fist. He took a few more steps, and as the light of the torch illuminated a circle around him, he found himself straying into an immense horde of rugged, unpolished jewels of every color he ever could have imagined, and even more.

Attempting to not to disturb their resting places as best he could, he began to climb the pile of gems. The precious stones grew larger and larger until they towered over him. Veins of rock marred their perfection, but it seemed that the one who had collected them did not care to remove the flaws. _It must have taken a dozen men to lift some of these_, he thought. _But how would they have gotten these all the way up here?_

He stopped, unexpectedly angered at the thought that anyone had been at this height before him. With his spirit crushed, the rage easily overcame him. In his wrath, he set his darkened emerald gaze on a smaller chunk of yellow topaz near his foot. Howling furiously, he kicked it as hard as he could and listened for the satisfying _clack_ noise it would make when it struck the ground some distance away.

Instead, he heard a loud mix between a _crack_ and a _thump_. He knew very well that stone hitting stone did _not_ make that sound. It was more like stone hitting flesh, if anything.

The ground beneath him shook as a low growl reverberated in the air around him. Instinctively, his body trembled. The next sound was like a grinding stone, a slithering snake, and cracking knuckles all at once. It was thunderous, but he couldn't move himself to cover his protesting ears.

Frozen in place, he could only quiver and gawk at the flashes of shimmering obsidian that occasionally entered his circle of light as the creature uncoiled itself. The terror grew and grew until he was sure that he was going to collapse. Somehow, however, he managed to stay on his feet until those flashes of obsidian were joined by a single jade eye with a slitted pupil glaring at him intensely.

Noiselessly, the torch fell from his hand and extinguished in the pile of jewels. As darkness overwhelmed him, he did not tear his gaze from that perfectly green eye that glowed like a beacon in the black.

As instantaneously as they had abandoned him, his wits returned, and he ran. With nothing but instinct to guide him, he scampered and stumbled down the hill of gemstones until his foot met solid rock. Aimlessly, he hurried forward as fast as his feet could take him.

He heard it moving behind him, following him at its leisure. On some level, he believed that it was only toying with him. On the surface, however, only his drive to escape existed.

Every thought and inherent need was crushed as he was met with the smooth wall. For all he knew, he had hit the back of the cave, and the monster was between him and the exit. His fear was confirmed as he again felt that warm, but horrifying breath on his back. It was tremendous this time, so close and strong that the pressure forced him to his knees.

With heavy, choking despair, he accepted his fate. The beast would consume him as punishment for awaking it and go back to sleeping. Turning so that his back rested against the stone barrier, he pulled his legs to his chest, rested his forehead on his knees, gripped his raven hair with his shaking fingers, and waited.

The painful bite of teeth or the searing torture of incineration did not come. Instead, the creature breathed on him once more, and then the air around him was suddenly sucked back. Was it... _smelling _him?

There was a growl again, but this time it was not angry. It was still like thunder, but it reminded him of the rumbling sensation of his father's laughter. The monster was amused. But was it amused at his pathetic attempt to escape, or at something else?

Again, his curiosity won out against his better judgement, and he looked up. The creature's two massive, luminous jade eyes stared back at him. If that was how large its eyes were, then surely its head alone was two or three meters.

He was so entranced with the beast's eyes that he did not notice that they grew closer. The first indication of decreasing distance came when its scaled, smooth snout brushed against his forehead.

_Ulquiorra_.

A sudden wave of anguish flooded through him as the low, growling voice echoed deafeningly in his ears and his mind. Rigid, he groaned through clenched teeth and clawed at the floor for something to grip as the agony increased. Even though his eyes closed, he saw. Memories he knew well and those he hadn't even known existed, going all the way back to the first sound of his mother's voice vibrating the fluid of his home in her womb, flashed before him. He may have screamed; he may have begged for the pain to cease; he may have cried, but he did not know. All he knew was the torment of the fire blazing in his blood and the recollections that the monster sifted through swiftly.

When he came to himself, he found that he had remained in his upright position against the wall. He was sure he had cried, for as he opened his eyes again, they felt tired and raw. The creature had not moved.

_Your name. It means something_.

He heard it as clearly as if it had spoken aloud. Nonetheless, even as those jade eyes gazed at him intensely, he found that the fear had vanished entirely. As such, he answered in a weak whisper, "Yes. It means 'he who cries'."

_Hmph. How cruel._

"No. Not cruel," the pale boy denied. It hurt to speak, but something compelled him to commune with this beast. He did not really want to resist the urge, either. "Ulquiorra Ezmado. Ulquiorra is the name given to me by my parents; Ezmado was given to me by the gods. Together, it means 'He who cries is loved.' I do not see it as cruel."

_Yet you do not cry if you can help it. Why is that, Ulquiorra Ezmado?_

"I don't know," he replied, straining. "I find it bothersome. Why cry over a pain that cannot be eased by crying? If it heals nothing, why waste time?"

Again, the air rumbled with laughter. _You are a determined boy, Ulquiorra Ezmado. _Those jade eyes blinked. The intensity turned to intrigue. _Ulquiorra... the determined boy who wants to touch the stars, correct?_

The emerald-eyed child nodded and whispered, "Yes."

_Then you shall._

Again, the sound of slithering reached his ears, and the next thing he knew, a long, massive, scaly tail had wrapped once around him. He expected to be frightened as the beast lifted him into the air, but he was not. Instead, he felt himself grow excited as he was placed carefully between the spines on its back. He bent his knees and held to the blunt protrusion in front of him, and again, he waited.

_Murciélago. That is my name. _There was a pause. _I have never had a human. _The voice, though still rumbling and deep, gained a tinge of longing. _Once, many of my kind had humans. I would like to, as well._

"You may have me," the pale boy offered immediately. He didn't even know what this creature was, but he (as the child had surmised) had spared his life. Among his people, that meant that he was indebted to him.

Murciélago laughed. _You are a strange human, Ulquiorra. I accept._ He settled on his haunches like a giant cat about to pounce, and within his mind, he instructed, _Do not let go, Ulquiorra Ezmado._

"I will not," the raven-haired youngling promised resolutely as he tightened his grip on the spine.

_Very well, then_. With that, the beast pushed off with his back legs. Together, they shot through the dark tunnel at an incredible speed. Finally, they rocketed out of the cave and into the open air.

The midnight sky in all its shimmering brilliance greeted Ulquiorra when he opened his eyes at last. The rush of wind reached his ears, and he glanced from side to side to find that Murciélago possessed a pair of massive, leathery wings. Beneath him, the scaled creature soared upward, careful not to advance at too vertical an angle due to his passenger.

Hardly finding enough breath to speak, the pale boy shouted, "You're a dragon!"

This time, the beast's laughter was only heard in his mind. _You are a strange, wonderful boy! You did not know that, yet you agreed to be my human! Strange, strange, __**strange **__boy, indeed!_ Murciélago remarked, infinitely amused.

Even as his mind struggled to comprehend this startling fact, the dragon reached a sufficient altitude, and he evened out his wings in order to cruise above the world. Above him, the cosmos rotated so clearly that when Ulquiorra reached up, he thought he could feel the warmth of the trillions of stars that his eyes could see.

However, no matter how far he stretched his fingers, all his skin met with was empty air.

Sensing the boy's disappointment, the black beast apologized, _I cannot leave our sphere. Even if I could, you could not. There is no air beyond the dome of this world._

After thinking for a long moment, the raven-haired child resolved stiffly, "I will be content with this. I may never touch them, but if I am close enough to see them beyond even the highest of clouds, I will be appeased."

Fondly, Murciélago thought, _Strange, determined, wonderful boy. I chose well._

Remembering his initial ambition, Ulquiorra yelled over the wind, "Will you take me to the peak of the mountain?"

_You needn't shout. I can hear you even in your thoughts,_ the dragon divulged. Flashing his rows of pearly, sword-like teeth in an amused grin, he agreed, _I will. Hold on, little human! _With a tilt of his wings, they soared back toward their summit.

When Ulquiorra returned home the next morning, he was immediately surrounded by worrying women and curious friends. Once his mother finally got a word in, she asked him why he hadn't been back by sunset like he had promised.

Reaching into his bag, he withdrew a crystalline shard of stone which he had taken from the mountain's peak. He displayed it for her inspection, and when she gazed at him in wonder, he nodded in affirmation. Someone in the crowd around them questioned what the bit of rock meant, and he turned to him, his emerald eyes blazing with strange fire.

Quietly and simply, but with so much certainty that no one dared question him, he stated, "I touched the stars."

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><p><strong>Love,<strong>

**Amaranth**


	2. Love & Loss

"Run." The whisper was urgent as her brother's warm, brown eyes gazed intently into hers. "Orihime, run."

Her small fingers brushed his dirty hair out of his face. Around them, the dark, imposing walls of the city alleyway towered over them. "I'm not leaving you," she replied, resolute.

"You have to," the lanky man insisted. "I'll stall them. They won't find you."

"But they'll find _you_!" she wept.

Tenderly, the pale man raked his fingers through her long amber tresses. Kissing her forehead and warming her equally pallid flesh, he reminded, "Your gift is just that: your own. I will not let anyone take you away from me for the sake of stealing your gift."

Heartbroken, the girl whimpered, "So instead you send me away?"

With his hands on her cheeks, he promised, "I will be right behind you. We can make it home, and we'll be safe."

"This is all my fault!" she lamented as she leaned into his touch, closing her autumn eyes. "If I hadn't-!"

"You saved that boy's _life_, Orihime. Never be ashamed of that, no matter what happens," her brother urged.

"Sora-!"

"Go. Run!"

Orihime obeyed. Turning, she rushed out into the bright midday sun of the capitol city. As terror made her move faster, her bare feet padded against the cobblestone road as she ran. Over and over, she looked back, horrified that their pursuers would be right at her heels. Choking on her own tears, she closed her eyes and quickened her pace.

Suddenly, the amber-haired girl crashed into something hard, solid, and wooden. She collapsed, crying out both in pain and fear. Whatever she had collided with stopped, and shocked gasps and yelling filled her ears. Unable to do more, she lay on the ground and keened in despair.

"Step back, step back! Give the girl some room!" the authoritative, yet feminine voice ordered.

"Y-your Majesty!"

"Do it! Kisuke, get your butt out here!"

A lighthearted laugh replied. "Is that any way to talk to your king, my dear?"

"Sober up!" the woman huffed. "This is serious." Gentle, soft hands touched her dirt-dusted skin, but she flinched away and whimpered as if the action pained her. "It's all right," the regal lady assured quietly. Her dark, olive fingers wrapped around the child's frail arm, ignoring the filth that marred her hands, and guided the weeping girl to her feet.

The tall, yet full-bodied woman knelt in front of the little girl. Her richly embroidered, crimson dress touched the dirty cobblestone, but the only thing she looked at were the waif's autumn eyes. She met them with her own golden gaze and smiled toothily. "Hey. What's your name?" she asked.

The amber-haired girl looked the majestic woman. With scrunching eyes, she stared at the lady's strange blackish-purple hair and kind expression. Wiping the tears from her grimy face, she creaked, "O-Orihime."

"I'm Yoruichi," the stately dame replied. Nodding to the sandy-blond man standing behind her, she introduced, "This my loving husband, Kisuke."

With a wide, goofy grin, the rugged man inquired, "And what brings you here, Orihime?"

Instantly, the girl gasped and began to cry again. "Sora. My brother, Sora! We – please!" she begged, clinging to the woman's fingers. "Please, we have to go back! I have to find him! He told me to run; I had to do it! I didn't want to! Please!"

Not even hesitating, Yoruichi nodded. "Lead the way."

Earnestly, Orihime took the patriarch's hand and led the pair away from the procession she had inadvertently interrupted. A few guards followed, but the rest were too shocked to move. The two didn't even blink as the girl led them toward the most dangerous part of the city. The houses shrank smaller and smaller, the roads deteriorated as they hurried along, and the shadows grew longer and darker.

At last, the amber-haired child turned a corner and screamed. In the dim of the alleyway laying in a puddle of his own blood was Sora. Leaving her companions, she ran to her brother and knelt at his side. She grabbed him by the collar of his ragged shirt, crying his name to no avail. He had already died from the multiple knife wounds in his abdomen, his brown eyes open and glazed over and his skin ashen.

The usually composed woman's eyes watered, her golden orbs stinging. In a move to comfort the child, she took a step forward.

"Don't!" Looking up with wild autumn eyes, the girl set her face in stone and demanded, "Stay away." Upon noting that she had alarmed the two, her countenance softened, and she peeped, "I don't want to hurt you."

Once she was sure that they wouldn't move, she closed her eyes and moved her brother's head into her lap. Leaning down and pressing her forehead to his, she exhaled quietly and whispered, "Sōten Kisshun."

The darkness of the street was instantly aglow with golden light. The source held her brother close and continued to cry silently, shaking. The light pulsed and shimmered, almost alive in its very nature, and swirled in a dance around the dead man's form. The puddle of blood vanished bit by bit, and the wounds closed, but his soul did not return to his body.

"No!" As the light faded, Orihime screamed in anguish and sobbed. "No! Sora, please! Please, I need you! Don't leave me, please! Please!"

"Hey! There she is!"

A trio of large, dirty men had run into the opposite end of the alley. Before any of them could come within striking distance of the girl, they were blocked by a bright, golden wall of light. They thudded against it helplessly, hitting it with their fists angrily in an attempt to break through.

"Witch!" the tallest one barked. "Damn you! All we want is your power; if you and your damn brother hadn't rushed off like that, we wouldn't have had to chase you all day!"

Her sorrowful eyes suddenly full of fire, Orihime yelled passionately, "If you wanted my help, all you had to do was ask! Instead, you tried to lock us in a house and keep us as prisoners so you could sell my powers!" Panting heavily from crying and exhaustion, she stood up and stared them down with defiance. "And then you killed him." She choked out the words, her usually compassionate and joyful voice tainted with rage. "You killed him, and even I can't bring him back if he's dead!" she screeched, taking a step toward the three and raising her hand.

The bronzed woman grabbed her wrist before her fingers could fall. She recognized the gesture; she would have attacked if she hadn't stopped her. "Orihime," she began, her compassionate voice low and sincere, "if you kill them, you will become them."

Again, tears streamed down the girl's face. "I'm so angry," she whimpered hoarsely.

"I know." Glancing with contempt at the suddenly frightened trio, Yoruichi replied, "I am, too. They will be brought to justice for the murder of your brother, and," she added with a look back at her husband, "we will take care of you. Let down the shield, and our guards will arrest them."

The wall of light vanished. The next few hours were naught but a blur to the little girl; the men were corralled, her brother's body was carried back toward the procession by the man that the guards addressed as "king," and she herself was lifted into the purple-haired woman's arms. She was brought to the largest house she had ever seen in her life, but she hardly registered her awe at first. For the first time since she and her brother had gone swimming that past summer, she bathed, but this time a bunch of older women rubbed her with something that made bubbles and smelled good. Her hair was teased into an intricate braid, and she was dressed in the softest gown she had ever worn.

Abruptly, she found herself at a long, ivory table, her stomach full for the first time in weeks and an empty plate before her. Looking up, she found a candlelit chandelier hovering above her, and glancing to the sides, she found the two she knew as Yoruichi and Kisuke staring at her the way her brother had.

"Orihime," the tanned woman began out of the blue, "do you know who we are?"

Her eyebrows furrowing in concern, Orihime shook her head.

"Oh! Well, I'm the wonderful, generous, incredibly handsome, and humble king of Karakura Kingdom," the sandy-blond man grinned, ruffing his hair, "and my beautiful wife is my queen!"

The amber-haired girl blinked. "But," she protested, "queens and kings don't... I mean, it's only a game. It's like pretending you have a fireplace during the winter when you're snuggling together o-or when you make a big feast out of bread and apples."

Kisuke glanced at his wife and found her golden eyes overflowing with pity and compassion. Even from across the table, he could feel the painful stretching of her heart at the innocence of this waif from the slums. Looking back to the child, he smiled genuinely and shook his head. "It's not a game. We really are the king and queen of Karakura. We rule it and everyone in it, though I personally prefer do let people do whatever they want as long as it's within the boundaries of the law," he remarked, allowing himself a ramble in order to hopefully diffuse the situation.

When Orihime's forehead scrunched in further confusion, Yoruichi changed the subject. "How old are you?" she inquired.

"I'll be eight in September," the autumn-eyed girl answered. Tearing up again, she squeaked, "Sora used to bring me something special like some fabric to make a dress for my doll or flowers. He called it a gift – something you didn't have to work to get." She picked up the folded cloth beside her plate and dried her eyes with it. "I thought it was nice."

The queen gaped just slightly. The girl's ignorance was as adorable as it was heartbreaking. With a confirming glance at her husband, she divulged, "Orihime, I know this is all very hard for you to understand right now, but Kisuke and I talked while you bathed, and we want you to stay here with us." As the child once more gained a perplexed expression, she added, "As our daughter."

Orihime's jaw dropped. A mom and a dad? She had never had a mom and a dad! Sora had told her about what they were supposed to be like, but when she had asked, he had said they had never had that. A thought occurred to her, and she contested, "B-but what about your other kids?!"

"We don't have any," Kisuke shrugged.

After thinking of how to say it, Yoruichi began, "I can't-"

"Well, it's not your fault, dear."

"I never said it was my fault! I just can't; stop assuming, pervert!"

"Ah, yes; pervert, I may be," the sandy-blond jested with a smirk, "but only when it comes to you, love." He turned his grey eyes to the befuddled child and explained, "Since Yoruichi cannot have children, and I do not want to have children with anyone else, there is no one to compete for our attention should you so choose to take advantage of our offer."

Blinking, Orihime decoded what he had said. Finally, she allowed her lips to turn into a smile. "Okay," she peeped, nodding. "I think that would be nice."

"And," Kisuke added, completely somber once again, "if you should desire, I can teach you to control your magic."

Her autumn eyes widened. In nothing more than a breath, she inquired, "You too?"

The king chuckled at her awed expression. Raising his hand and leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes. Instantly, the light of the chandelier went out, leaving only the flaming, flickering red glow that encircled his fingers. Sparks flew from his fingertips, bursting into little, red, falling stars that showered the table in scintillating drops.

When Orihime thought the light in the darkness could not be any more wonderful, another light from the opposite side of the table joined. Instead of being sparkly and warm, like Kisuke, it was glorious, vibrant white. It zipped wildly around the room like bolts of lightning, illuminating the focused countenance of the woman from whose fingers it burst. Its violence was restrained, and each zig and zag was purposeful and calculated, but there was a lingering joy in the rapidly flashing magic. It was perfectly attuned to the dark-skinned woman, just as her husband's magic was perfectly matched to himself.

Eager to join in, Orihime threw her right hand into the air. When nothing happened, she scowled and huffed. Closing her eyes tightly, she raised her other hand as well and exhaled slowly. For a fleeting moment, her heart beat faster, and she felt a warmth surge through in her blood. Instinctively, she held to the sensation and opened her eyes. To her glee, above her head danced a dozen, long, sparkling, golden ribbons of energy. They twirled and whirled in a silent ballet, shedding glittering light everywhere. "I did it!" she cheered as her light intermingled with those of the other two. "I did it!"

For a long while more, the three lights swirled and played around each other, their owners connecting wordlessly through the gift they had been blessed with. Orihime discovered that she could feel bits and pieces of what they felt through it; happiness, peace, and longing. Inherently, she realized how badly they had wanted a child, and steadily, as their magic danced with her own, she understood how much she wanted to be the one they wanted.

No amount of magic could bring Sora back. No amount of magic could replace him. However, these two people – magical or not, she decided – were a gift she would never regret accepting.


	3. Light Comes Before Dark

**Thanks to Esaint Dracul for reviewing!**

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><p>As the first glimmer of dawn peeked over the mountain and through the window of the small, but sturdy house, Ulquiorra awoke. His emerald eyes opened sluggishly, and, reluctantly, he pushed himself up onto his forearms. With a soft sigh, he squeezed his eyes shut in a long, tight blink as he ruffled his untamable raven hair. After hesitating for a moment more, he turned over, leapt to his feet, and rolled his sleeping mat into a taut bundle which he then placed neatly in the corner.<p>

Glancing around, he eyed his sleeping younger cousins. The twins, Roda and Rojan – both rowdy, opinionated seven-year-old boys – had uncharacteristically cuddled close to each other during the night. Ulquiorra considered rousing their friends to witness the touching scene, but decided that he would not be so cruel (though he would threaten them with it the next time they especially got on his nerves).

As quietly as he could manage, he changed into a clean, off-white tunic; a dark, almost black leather vest; and his black boots before grabbing his thick coat and tiptoeing out of the room.

He had almost successfully made it to the front door when a sharp, albeit hushed voice stopped him.

"And just where are you going, Ulquiorra?"

Defeated, he turned his emerald eyes back to the disapproving countenance of his aunt. Even though she was his father's sister, she had been less than happy to take in another child after the incident that had claimed his parents' lives two years previously. As always, she had no issues with showing it.

"To finish my chores, ma'am," the pale boy answered respectfully, his eyes not shying from hers nor challenging her.

"And _after _that?"

"I recall informing you that I would be gone most of the day," Ulquiorra replied. His eyebrows furrowing in confusion and mild irritation, he questioned, "Will that be a problem?"

"You spend far too much time up on that mountain," his aunt scolded, "especially after my poor brother passed away. Rather disrespectful of his memory, don't you agree?"

The raven-haired young man noticed that she did not mention his mother, whom she had never particularly liked. Averting his gaze, he exhaled slowly as he recalled hearing the rumbling in the distance. All over again, he was thirteen years old, running with every bit of energy he could muster toward the cracking, shattering summit. The noonday sun had beat down upon him and sapped him of hope as he recalled his mother had been bringing lunch to his father in the mine. By the time he had come to a skidding stop, the dust had begun to settle, and the opening to the mine had been sealed. He had joined the older men in digging, but they soon realized that the cave-in was not just at the entrance. They had to tunnel ten meters before they found the first body.

It had been his mother, broken and bruised and already dead, still holding the basket of her husband's meal in her hand.

It had taken another week to excavate the rest of the mine and account for the last of the bodies. True to his character, his father had been the last they found; he had been the last to leave, having ensured that everyone else was on their way out first. Twenty people had died, leaving a dozen families fatherless. No one disputed, however, that Ulquiorra had lost the most, even though he had never said a word nor cried a single tear when the subject was broached.

Before long, everyone began to call him "heartless" beneath their breath.

"Are you hearing me, boy?!" his aunt snapped, jolting him from his thoughts. "I asked you a question!"

"No," Ulquiorra stated shortly in return. Having shocked her into silence for a moment, he continued, "I do not see it as disrespectful. If anything, the fact that I desire to be near the last place my parents drew breath is a homage to their existence. Excuse me." With that, he vacated the house.

In comparison to most of the other boys his age, Ulquiorra found himself rather unremarkable in terms of physical prowess. Even as he split wood for his family's stock for the coming winter, he couldn't help but glance at the neighbor boy who, even at fourteen – a year younger than him – was three inches taller and had removed his tunic unnecessarily in order to advertise his bulging biceps. Now and then, the immature child would split the wood with his bare hands, much to the twittering and gawking of the teenaged girls out fetching water.

Resisting the temptation to roll his emerald eyes, Ulquiorra discreetly poked at his own arm. While not large or bulky, his own muscles were solid beneath the fabric of his shirt. He had beaten boys twice his size in wrestling matches (which he had been goaded into on occasion), but through agility and leverage rather than brute strength.

He supposed in that matter, he and Murciélago were alike. The obsidian dragon had described his experiences as a youngling, and, even though Ulquiorra considered him nothing short of massive, the beast had laughed and stated that for a dragon, he was unusually lithe.

His mood darkened as he remembered that his parents had never met Murciélago. He had been planning to introduce them, in fact, but the cave-in had happened before he had the chance. Would they have been impressed? He could imagine the shock and awe on their faces, and the slow, but sure grin that would spread over his father's lips. He had told Murciélago everything about them, and the winged creature had often said that he would like to meet them. They would never get the chance, though, for Murciélago said that when he eventually died, the place his soul would go to would be very different from that of a human. Quite honestly, it upset him more than he could express in words.

Clenching his jaw, Ulquiorra swung the axe again. Not only did it split the log in two, but it embedded so deeply into the wide stump he had been using as flat surface that it took him a few minutes to wedge it free. He cursed under his breath, uttering a word he had heard the miners use whenever something went wrong. He had used it once in front of his father and had gotten his bum smacked with a wooden spoon, but his father was no longer around to scold him.

He eyed the sharp blade of the axe and swung it as if it were a one-edged sword. Over the past few years, he and the other growing men of the village had been trained in weaponry. Their tutor rarely commented on his performance, but he knew from the fear in his peers' eyes that he had skill that surpassed their own. Unlike his larger comrades, he was precise and calculated, jabbing and thrusting into unprotected areas instead of swinging wildly in hopes of hitting something. He had watched himself practice in the reflection of a still pool in the forest. All that had looked back at him were cold, dispassionate eyes and steeled determination.

It was no wonder that his peers were afraid of him if even he was afraid of himself.

After finishing his chores, he grabbed his pack from his room, buttoned up his coat, and headed toward the base of the mountain. As it was a common occurrence, no one stopped him or questioned where he was going. They all knew his affinity for heights, and they all knew his obsession with the western mountain, though none of them knew why.

At the foot of the summit, he searched for a specific nook in the rocks. From it, he withdrew a crystalline, white sword embedded with emerald, jade, and green tourmaline in a plain leather sheath. Murciélago had surprised him with the metals and jewels to mark the beginning of his training, and Ulquiorra had hence taken the materials to the smithy. After demanding that all the leftover not used for the sword could be kept as the price of his silence, the smith had forged the sword for him with the utmost care. He had even called it his masterpiece and begged the boy to supply him with more precious metals, but Ulquiorra had firmly refused. He would not take advantage of Murciélago's generosity.

Tying the sheath to his belt, he began to climb. He had memorized the path, knowing exactly where to grab onto the rocks and where to place his feet. As such, he had reached Murciélago's cave by noon. They were both aware that it was too much of a risk for him to fly down to the base of the mountain to greet him; who knew how the villagers would react?

With a significant chill reaching his bones, Ulquiorra was incredibly relieved to find the dragon waiting at the entrance of the cave, ready to breathe warm, soothing air over his human. They sat in silence on the stone for a long time, the raven-haired youth basking in the heat.

_You are upset_, Murciélago observed after a while.

"Yes," the growing young man replied honestly.

_Your thoughts dwell on your parents. Your mind is clouded with anger. _With a protective growl, the dragon stated, _The woman has been antagonizing you again._

"She can't help it," Ulquiorra defended without any conviction. "It is in her nature."

_And the man still does nothing?_

The emerald-eyed boy thought about his submissive, henpecked uncle and scoffed. "He is weak," he remarked, mild contempt souring his tone. Staring up at the cloudless blue sky, he meditated for a moment before beginning, "Murciélago?"

_Yes? _When the young man did not respond, the dragon grumbled, _Ulquiorra, you know it irritates me when you hide your thoughts._

"It is not my place to ask," the pale teenager whispered, averting his gaze to his hands in his lap. "It is too much. After all you've done for me, it is a selfish thought."

Murciélago was silent. He searched the child's expression, the emotion that he had learned to suppress in front of everyone but the ancient dragon, and any thoughts he could glean from his mind. Finally, he understood, and he lowered his neck and laid his chin on the stone so he could look the boy in the eye. The infant – not so by human standards, but indeed so by those of a dragon – refused to meet his stare.

_You wish to leave. You want to ask me to take you elsewhere, and to never return. Is that correct, Ulquiorra?_ the obsidian creature ventured.

His voice strained with emotion as he spoke, and even as he did, he tried to stuff every waver and creak back into his throat. "Yes," Ulquiorra answered. Still unable to look at the aged and wise beast, he divulged, "I cannot stand it here, but this has been your home for centuries. How can I demand that you leave that for my own fleeting desire?"

_Do not demand, then. Ask._

Surprised, the boy looked into the glowing stare of his only friend. Emerald met jade, and, swallowing tightly, he requested, "Will you help me leave my village? Will you take me somewhere else; somewhere I do not have to hide you? Where I am not... berated," he huffed, struggling with the words, "for being... odd?"

Without hesitation, Murciélago replied, _Yes._

Ulquiorra protested. "But what about your horde?" he questioned. "You spent centuries amassing it."

_It can be moved. It will take some time, but less time than it took to find it all in the first place_.

"Where could we go? Surely, the world has changed since you last saw it."

Murciélago laughed, shaking the mountain with the sound. _Who would dare challenge a dragon and his human, hmm? We will go where we wish and settle where we are welcomed. _

"Why?" Conflicted, the emerald-eyed adolescent pressed, "Why would you do this for me?"

Sincerity and resolution was clear in the dragon's jade eyes as he spoke. _The woman hurts you. The man neglects you. The boys aggravate you. You are not trusted; you are not cared for as you should be. When I see your despair, it arouses in me a flame that has not been kindled since I cared for my own younglings ages ago. It is burning and bright and constant, and fierce. _Unwavering, Murciélago finished, _I will do whatever it takes to ease your despair, Ulquiorra. That is what love does._

The serpentine slits of his eyes narrowed. _Ulquiorra... you cry._

Immediately, the boy moved to wipe away the evidence, but a sharp snort of warm air on his face stopped him. He ended up staring at Murciélago, entranced, as hot, salty liquid rolled silently from his eyes. At last, his hand fell to his side, and though he did not sob or cry out, nor did his breathing shorten, he allowed the drops to tumble down.

_Now,_ Murciélago declared as his lips lifted to reveal a row of sharp teeth in something akin to a smirk, _the name fits the man. _

In his version of a chuckle, Ulquiorra exhaled shortly. When the tears stopped on their own, only then did he wipe away the trails they had left behind.

For a long time afterwards, they simply sat together, content in one another's company and oblivious to the danger lurking outside their door.

* * *

><p><strong>Hugs, Amaranth <strong>


	4. Downstream

**Thanks to ael fyragh for reviewing!**

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><p>"Focus." The calm, even voice in her ear soothed her nerves. "Focus on the target. Don't think about <em>how<em> to do it; just do it. Just aim, and fire. Don't worry about the wind. Don't worry about how far. Just shoot."

"Koten Zanshun!" A burst of golden light later, the target across the courtyard was split in two straight down the center. Squealing with delight, Orihime twirled on her toes and clapped happily. "I did it, Mama!" she cheered, embracing her adoptive mother.

The dark-skinned woman laughed at her daughter's antics. After six years, she was accustomed to them. Hugging her child back, Yoruichi smiled, patted the girl's head, and praised, "Good work, Orihime. I'm very proud of you."

"Can I do it again?" the amber-haired girl pleaded eagerly.

With a wave of her hand, the queen ordered, "Set up another target!"

For another half hour, the princess practiced her aim, splitting the targets perfectly each time. After begging for what must have been years, her parents had agreed to teach her to use her powers for offense. Though she had acknowledged that her conviction wavered at the idea of hurting anyone, she knew that if it was a choice between losing someone she loved and harming someone else, she would do whatever it took to protect those she cared about.

Finally, as the sun reached its peak, her mother decided that they had trained enough for one day. After bathing, they met the sandy-blond king for lunch. Orihime had become accustomed to being full, and as she grew, she found she began to eat as much as the queen did. Also, just like the queen, she found that no matter what she did, her figure never suffered. Even at thirteen years old, her assets were far more pronounced than those of any other girls her age. Her personal maid (and best friend), Tatsuki, had made it a common jest that all the food she ate went straight to her bust. Embarrassing as it was, it also seemed to be true.

As soon as the small family had finished their midday meal, Kisuke led his daughter by the arm into the immense, gilded library of the palace. With a wide, interested stare, she followed him as he pulled specific books off of the hundreds of shelves in the fantastic archive. At last, when he had a dozen books piled in his arms, they seated themselves at the low table in the center of the library, their legs crossed beneath them as they sat on silky cushions.

"Today," the scholarly (as Orihime had long ago learned) man began, "we are going to focus on history."

"Oh! Goodie!" Pushing back her long, wavy amber hair, she remarked, "I love history! Karakura, Soul Society, or Hueco Mundo?"

Kisuke chuckled, and he answered, "All of them. This book," he explained as he set a beautiful, new, leather-bound text before them, "details the origins of the three kingdoms. Of course, it's a bit broken up in places where records were lost, but the basics are there."

Orihime excitedly scooted closer to her father. When he was silent, simply smiling at her, she urged, "Go on; open it!"

Again, he laughed, but he did as she requested. Skipping the first few pages of context and titles, he began to read:

"Approximately seven-thousand years ago, the continent later named 'Cloroxia' rose from the sea. The gods lifted it from the bed of the vast ocean and fixed it in place. They built piles of rocks which solidified into mountains, drew trails in the dirt which became rivers, scattered the seeds of the forests, and blew upon the sands of the eastern desert. From the other lands, they took animals and placed them in their new home. Other creatures migrated to the new, uninhabited world, among these the mighty dragons which once populated all of Cloroxia.

"From the caves of the mountains, the gods brought the people who would later form the kingdom of Hueco Mundo. From the mud of the rivers, they formed the people who would form Karakura, and, from across the sea, those who would built up Soul Society sailed from their old land and to the western shore.

"The Mundans were nomadic, living in clans and surviving in the forests of the mountains and the barren sands of the desert on the other side of the Great East River. They were also warlike, fighting over hunting rights and water and land continually. Entire tribes were wiped out over ancient blood feuds. Since they had no written language, all their histories were told from generation to generation, and no records were written down until all the clans were conquered by Lord Kyōka Suigetsu Aizen sixteen generations ago, who then made the Common Tongue the main language of his new kingdom, Hueco Mundo. Before that, they spoke a version of the Common Tongue, but it so differed from those of the other two groups that had arisen at that time, that until the Common Tongue became the sole language throughout Hueco Mundo twenty years after the beginning of his reign, Lord Aizen employed hundreds of translators to serve as companions to the main businessmen and other dignitaries of his court. It was also Lord Aizen who set out the first campaign against the dragons, with whom the Hueco Mundans had never established amicable relations."

"How did he do that?" Orihime asked as she eyed her father curiously.

"Do what? Fight the dragons?" Kisuke inquired. Sadness played across his face as he answered, "It's possible. Dangerous, but possible. The Mundans hunted them to near extinction, and those who didn't die left the continent and never returned."

"No," the autumn-eyed girl persisted, growing increasingly perplexed, "how did he make everyone learn the Common Tongue in such a short time? Even if you enrolled all the children in school, you will still have the older people who knew nothing of the Common Tongue. They would hear it at home, and they would speak both. How did he make it that everyone spoke only the Common Tongue?"

"That," the king replied with a shrug, "I don't know. No one ever figured it out, and the Mundans don't talk about it. However he did it, it was a masterpiece of mass education."

Turning back to the book, he continued:

"As for Soul Society, its original inhabitants came from over the sea as a group of colonists. Its leaders were of the Yamamoto family, which still rules Soul Society today: Seirei Yamamoto and his wife, Tei. Already having the benefit of years of experience as a kingdom group from their origin country, they easily began building their empire full of art and culture. However, they were satisfied with the land on the side of the Great West River, and did not venture over until the Karakurans made contact with a fishing village on the Soulan side of the bank."

"Well, that seems foolish," the princess scoffed. Incredulously, she questioned, "Why wouldn't the Soulans explore more of the continent when there's so much to see? I want to go to every kingdom someday, just so I can see it all!"

Kisuke smirked and explained, "The Soulans are very happy with their way of life. They are very territorial of what they have, but they aren't particularly concerned with anything else: generally. There are, of course, exceptions to the stereotype."

Satisfied, Orihime nodded, rested her head on her father's shoulder, and waited for him to resume.

"Karakura Kingdom, unlike Soul Society and Hueco Mundo, had more humble and less violent beginnings. The first rulers, Lord Kura and Lady Kara, started as the leaders of a prosperous, agricultural and trading town. The surrounding towns and villages constantly did business with them, and the leaders came to the wise couple for advice about their own villages. After many years of continuing as such, the other towns' leaders came together and decided to band together as a kingdom. As everyone respected them immensely, Kura and Kara were asked if they would consider becoming the first king and queen of the new country. They accepted, and the council decided to name their new kingdom after their first queen and king: Karakura."

"Why is Kara first?" Orihime ventured. Her autumn eyes wide and curious, she inquired, "Isn't it the man's name that usually comes first?"

"What is it that women notoriously do better than men?" the sandy-blond asked in return.

Her amber eyebrows furrowed. "Make babies?" she guessed.

Snorting loudly, Kisuke laughed. With a shake of his head, he chortled, "They _listen_, Orihime! Friendships between women are based off of listening. Now, men, of course, like to be listened to, as well, but how many men do you know who sit around sharing the deepest secrets of their hearts as casually as women do?"

"None."

"Precisely. The thing about Kara was not just that she listened well, but she was kind and loving when she responded. Kura was kind as well, but according to history, he was a very action-based man. He offered action; she offered comfort."

"So...?" Orihime peeped, still not understanding.

"People liked her more," Kisuke answered bluntly.

"Oh."

With that, the king went on:

"Karakura's economy is still majorly off of trading between the kingdoms and agriculture, seeing as the most fertile land is found between the two Great Rivers where Karakura is. The economy of Soul Society is based off of entertainment and art and the sale of lumber, since Soul Society's land is the most forested on the entire continent. Finally, the economy of Hueco Mundo is focused on weaponry and minerals mined from the ten great mountains to the east."

"Didn't anyone ever try to fight back against the first Lord Aizen?" the amber-haired girl questioned suddenly. "I mean, I know he had to fight the other tribes, but didn't anyone ever protest against him making everyone speak the Common Tongue and him ruling the whole kingdom?"

Flipping to a page deep within the book, Kisuke pointed to the a sketch of a man with dark hair and sharp, shadowed eyes and replied, "Yes. His name was Ezmado Eriché Cifer. He started a rebellion the year after Lord Aizen won against the other tribes. He was defeated."

"Did he die?" Orihime inquired, pitying the man already.

"Eventually, yes. Some people – especially the Hueco Mundan government – claimed he was killed in battle, but legends persisted that he had escaped to the mountains with his family and a few others. But it's been many centuries since then."

Curious, the young teenager touched the drawing of the intense-looking man. His features were sharp and angled, but they had a strange, youthful softness to them. His hair was long and messy and dark, and the eyes beneath his bangs seemed to glare at her from the page. "How old was he when he started the rebellion?" she peeped.

"Twenty-eight, but he already had five children from two different wives."

Crinkling her nose, the girl remarked, "That's kinda icky."

"Not to the Mundans," Kisuke shrugged. "These days, it's more uncommon for anyone not in the royal court to have more than one wife, but the current king – Lord Sōsuke Aizen – has three wives and a whole wing of his palace for his concubines."

"Concu-?"

"Prostitutes who get to live in his home," the king interrupted. He didn't particularly want to tell her, but he figured that since the subject had been broached, it was best to go straight to the point.

Orihime blanched. "That's definitely icky."

"A little; yeah."

"How many children does he even _have_?!" she burst, stuck on the topic despite her dislike of it. Her mind spun over the fact and scoffed, "I mean, if you have that many wives and that many – what was it, concubines? - you're gonna have a lot of kids!"

"None that he's claimed as his heir yet," Kisuke answered. "His wives are all low-ranking noblewomen, and he says that all of his children via his concubines are illegitimate. He makes sure they're cared for, of course, but none of them will ever rule Hueco Mundo. He's been trying to take a fourth wife of higher birth, but that hasn't worked out for him very well."

"Higher birth?" Orihime squeaked, sudden fear flooding her. "You mean... l-like a princess?"

Her father's determined, serious grey eyes met her anxious gaze. "I will not lie to you; he has asked since he does not know your history," he admitted. "As you know, we have not told many people. The rest of the world thinks you were our secret daughter who we protected from the world until your eighth birthday. It is better that way."

The girl nodded in understanding. She had never questioned their decision, though the secret weighed her down sometimes. Tatsuki was the only one of her attendants who knew that she wasn't the blood daughter of the king and queen, but she was most often enough.

"But we declined. He promised to wait to marry you until you came of age at eighteen if we betrothed you two, but we would never do that to you," Kisuke continued, mussing her amber tresses. Sincerely, he reminded, "Just as Yoruichi and I did, you will marry the one you love."

Consoled, Orihime smiled a bit. Nonetheless, she persisted, "It's still icky."

"Maybe to us, but to have multiple wives is part of their culture. It was – and is – a sign of prosperity for the man and the tribe. If a man has many wives, he has the means to provide for them; if a man has many wives, that means the tribe has enough women in their ranks for him to marry. Some men only have one wife because they're poorer; others have one because of how the Soulan and Karakuran cultures have affected Hueco Mundo; and others have one because they choose to."

Curiously, the princess inquired, "Could you marry someone else if you wanted to?"

Chuckling and shaking his head, Kisuke answered, "No, not according to our laws. I'd have to divorce Yoruichi in order to marry someone else."

"And you would never do that, would you?" she asked, confident that she already knew the answer.

The king turned to her and threaded his fingers through her sunset hair. In the goofy, high-pitched voice that made her laugh every time, he queried, "Why would I want to, when I already have everything I could ever want, hm?"

Leaning into his hand and giggling brightly, Orihime whispered, "I have no idea."

"It'd be pretty crazy, wouldn't it?"

"Almost as crazy as having a bunch of random women living in your house."

Kisuke laughed, whipping a decorated fan out of his sleeve and tapping the crown of her head with it. "Now! Back to studying, m'dear! We have several thousand years of details to go through before dinner."

The amber-haired teenager scooted closer to her father as he continued to read, and she smiled. She may have been the secretly adopted daughter, but she knew that she was nonetheless her parents' princess.

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><p><strong>Amaranth<strong>


	5. Metzger from Hell

It was dark when Ulquiorra opened his eyes. Even in the pitch blackness, he moved, putting on his outerwear silently. That was one positive of being friends with a dragon; he had long become accustomed to complete darkness. Without making a sound, he inched out of the house. From behind the cabin and beneath the wood pile, he withdrew his pack and the sword which he had carefully concealed that afternoon. Slinging the bag over his shoulder and tying the blade to his belt, he took one last look at the house and set off on the road toward the western mountain.

There was no doubt or hesitation in his mind as he felt for the first handhold in the mountain. His muscles responded automatically. Without wavering, he grabbed each notch in the stone and began to move upward through the thick, moonless night. Fearlessly, he continued upward, confident that even on this final climb, his mountain would not let him fall.

He was halfway up the summit when he heard the first, faintest scream carried on the wind.

For the first time in his life, the emerald-eyed boy looked down. He saw the glow of orange coming from the fields which were ripe for harvest. They were burning. There was no lightning, so the fires had to have been started by someone, he reasoned.

When the glow burst up in the corner of the village, far from the fire of the fields, only then did he allow himself to fear. Digging into his bag and clinging to the rock face with his other hand, he withdrew a thin, but sturdy metal stake with a loop at the end. He thrust it into the stone, and when he knew it was secure, he tied his rope to the loop and began to rappel downwards. Another chorus of screams reached his ears, and he descended faster, his hands burning on the rope.

_Ulquiorra, your presence is retreating. What are you doing?_ Murciélago asked just as his human's feet touched the ground.

The dragon's usually clear and strong voice was faint due to the distance, but Ulquiorra did not hesitate to respond in kind. "The village is being attacked," he answered.

_Shall I come assist you?_

"Please do." Drawing his sword, Ulquiorra ran toward home.

By the time he reached the edge of the village, half of the houses had been set ablaze. There were dozens of men dashing to and fro, racing into the houses and carrying out armfuls of possessions. Every one of them wore armor made of steel that glinted bloodily in the light of the raging flames.

"No! No, please! My sons! No!"

He knew that screeching voice. He turned his emerald eyes to the sobbing, somehow more unpleasant face of his aunt as a large, burly man dragged Roda and Rojan out of their smoking house.

Brandishing his sword, Ulquiorra rushed forward and thrust his blade through the invader's back. The crystalline blade slid through the steel plate armor as if it were softened butter. The man groaned and released the boys before he fell to the ground.

The raven-haired young man stood over his dead enemy, his white sword dripping with blood and his emerald eyes cold. With those same eyes, he looked at his family and ordered, "Run. Go to the mine, take everyone you find with you, and seal the entrance if you have to."

Whimpering thanks, the three fled.

Continuing through the village, Ulquiorra looked for every glint of polished steel. As he walked, he left a trail of bodies behind him, some slashed across the front, others stabbed through the heart, and a few choice individuals decapitated. Even as the flames rose and spread, he sought out and killed every man he found, most of whom were standing over the gutted or burnt bodies of his neighbors.

Killing, he found, was not as difficult as he had believed it would be. They fell so quickly. Some, he never even saw their eyes. Some managed to strike at him a few times, but they, too, crumpled in a pool of their own blood before long. It was like chopping wood; a mindless, menial task that almost bored him. He did not even feel his own darkness increase as he cut them down one after the other.

At last, as he chased the last infiltrator, he reached the edge of the village and skidded to the stop. Before his eyes, between the blazing village and the smoldering fields, was an army, all glinting spectacularly in the light of the flames. Neatly organized rows of men stretching back to the edge of the fields faced him, and at its front stood three men: one with shimmering silver hair; another dark-skinned with a visor in front of his eyes; and the last a tall, stately man whose dark, brown eyes immediately honed in on the lone boy.

Before a single man could move one step, the valley shook with an ear-splitting roar. The ranks lost their composure, most crying out in shock and terror as they covered their ears. Murciélago landed behind his human with a crashing _thump_. The scaled, horned serpent released another deafening clamor that caused the entire vale to vibrate. Jade and emerald stared dispassionately at their enemy, Ulquiorra raising his sword as the dragon bared his teeth.

"My, my, Lord Aizen!" the silver-haired man laughed. "Ain't this unexpected!"

The man with the visor furrowed his eyebrows. "The dragon is not attacking the boy. Could it be-?"

"Yes, Kaname." Smirking, the umber-eyed male remarked, "It seems we've stumbled upon a very well-kept secret. The last dragon of Cloroxia," he observed with interest, "and its human."

With his hand on his sword, the dark-skinned warrior stepped forward. "I will dispose of them, my lord."

"No. Don't." The reflection of the flaming village hid the dark malice in the leader's eyes. "I want to see this."

Lord Aizen lifted a finger, and his army rushed forward as one. Intrigued, he watched as the boy took two steps back, grabbed the ridges of one of the dragon's scales, and swung himself atop the beast. With a mighty flap of those leathery wings, the creature shot into the air, and the next moment, green fire rained down on the first several lines of his men, incinerating them and melting their metal armor into glowing puddles. Even as the stream ended, the young man leapt from the crown of the monster's head. He followed in the flame's wake, landing in a crouch in the center of the charred circle of earth.

There was no hesitation between his landing and his attack. The lines of Lord Aizen's formidable force thinned between the precise swings of the boy's sword and the snapping jaw of the dragon. The smell of burnt flesh and the irony tang of blood rose into the air, and still, the child did not stop. He wore no armor, and even though he had clearly attained some wounds due to the tears in his clothing, they seemed not to bother him at all. It was as if he didn't even feel the pain; as if he had shut himself down to feeling anything physically.

When the pile of bodies ceased moving entirely, leaving only Ulquiorra and the obsidian beast in a circle of a hundred men, and his emerald eyes looked up, Aizen realized that the boy was shut off emotionally as well.

Two dozen men still hung behind their three leaders, shaking in their boots. One begged, "My lord, please don't send us-!"

The next instant, his head lay at his feet, severed by the dark-skinned man. "Do not question the orders of Lord Aizen! If he orders you to die, you die!" he demanded.

Terrified, the remaining soldiers replied in the affirmative.

"Gin." The silver-haired man looked at his king, though one would not be able to tell due to his squinted eyes had his head not turned. "Incapacitate the boy."

"And the dragon, m'lord?" Gin smirked, already drawing his long dagger.

"Kaname." Smiling idly, the umber-eyed nobleman stated, "The dragon is yours."

Ulquiorra's eyes widened as the tall, lanky man attacked. He skidded backwards after the clash of their swords. The invader moved, thrusting over and over almost faster than the pale boy could follow: _almost_, that is.

Slashing upwards, the emerald-eyed teenager disarmed his opponent. As the knife went flying, however, he realized his mistake. With his sword in the air, he had left his midsection unprotected.

Gin grinned. He took advantage immediately, jabbing the unprotected boy in the solar plexus trice.

With his breath gone and at least one rib broken, Ulquiorra couldn't help but fall to the ash and blood-covered ground. As he found himself unable to inhale, his vision blurred. Faintly, as if in a fading dream, he heard a pained, thunderous roar, but he could not even manage to wheeze out the dragon's name before something hard hit him in the head, and everything turned to black.

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><p><strong>Amaranth<strong>


	6. Blackheart

**Thanks to ****nokturnallight and wannabeghandi for reviewing!**

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><p>"<em>We found survivors hiding in the caves, Lord Aizen. What shall we do with them?"<em>

"_Kill them all, of course."_

"_And the boy?"_

_There was a pause. "He interests me. Bind him, and bring him with us. Make sure he does not wake up until he is secured in Las Noches."_

"_Yes, Lord Aizen."_

"_General Tōsen, he's-!"_

"_Don't just stand there! Knock him out!"_

–

Ulquiorra's eyes flew open with a thunderous pain in the back of his head. The room was dark. Had it all been a dream?

"Roda?" he croaked, finding his voice unbearably dry and cracked. Blinking, he tried to make out the pallets of his cousins in the darkness. "Rojan? Aunt Mika?"

Suddenly, he realized that he had been laying on stone. He pushed himself up and rubbed his eyes, a dry caking of salt and dirt falling off beneath his fingers. He brushed it out of his eyes before feeling around in the darkness.

A clinking caught his attention. He looked down at his wrists, and though he saw nothing, he felt the shackles that encircled them. When he stood up on unsteady legs, the chains clanked together. He followed them back to a cold, but dry wall where they were fastened. Curious, he tested their length, but he could not reach the other side of the room.

As he sat down again, he realized the truth. It hadn't been a dream. Everyone was dead. He was chained in the dungeon of an enemy he hadn't even known had existed, and he and Murciélago would never explore the world together.

_Murciélago._ Although he resisted, a panic welled up in his soul. With his mind and his hoarse voice, he called out for the dragon, but there was no response.

Just as he had allowed despair to consume him in the darkness, he heard the opening and closing of a heavy door. Attentively, he listened as one – no, two – pair of footfalls approached. The world lit in dim orange, and he knew that his visitors had a torch. The light stopped moving as he heard a clink, and he realized that they had placed the flame in a base along the wall.

He looked up to be greeted with the sight of two people – a boy and a girl – who appeared to be a few years older than himself. The male was tall and burly, and his strange, unnatural, spiky blue hair was all too evident in the firelight. The other, the female, had long, flowing, turquoise hair and a kind smile painted on her face (as well as a strange, fuchsia tattoo across the bridge of her nose). Both of them were dressed completely in white; her in a fitted top and loose pants and him in an ostentatiously open jacket and the same form of trousers. They stared at him, and he at them, until the girl put down the tray of food and water she had been carrying and pushed it toward him with the tips of her fingers.

Slowly, as to show her he meant no harm, Ulquiorra retrieved the platter, though he noticed the protective glare in the older boy's azure eyes as he moved. In silence, he drank the water that soothed his sore and aching throat before he began to consume the thick, hearty bread. For prisoner's rations, he decided that the bread was incredible. It was still lingeringly warm, which made him suspicious, but he resolved that if he were to die of poison, it would be a better death than wasting away in a dark cell.

"What's your name?"

The girl's soft voice brought him out of his dismal thoughts, and he looked up at her and met her hazel gaze with his own emerald one. Her words sounded familiar, but he couldn't be sure. _What language is she speaking?_

"The hell, Nelliel! Don't talk to him!" the tall boy scolded obnoxiously. "This freak killed a hundred of Father's best soldiers!"

"Father wants to know his name anyways, so if I can get it without mindless violence, I will," the girl retorted calmly. Staring up at her companion, she whispered, "Don't you think enough people have been hurt over him, Grimmjow?"

The blue-haired young man crossed his arms and huffed, but did not protest again.

Again, the attractive young lady – Ulquiorra had noticed, of course, but it didn't matter – turned to him and smiled. "What is your name?" she enunciated.

"I don't understand," the pale boy replied, his voice smoother now he had drank something.

Nelliel blinked at him, perplexed as well. Suddenly, a look of awe graced her face. "Grimmjow," she whispered, "I think he's speaking Mundan."

His black eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He recognized one word – Mundan – and, by the older male's reaction, he guessed that Grimmjow was the burly fellow's name.

"What are you talking about? Nobody speaks Mundan anymore! It's ancient!"

"Master Tōsen does."

"Tōsen can go die in a hole!" Grimmjow snapped.

"Just because you don't like him-"

"The son of a bitch smacked me the last time I couldn't answer his question! _Me_: Grimmjow Jeagerjaques, Lord Aizen's son! If Father didn't like him so much, I swear, I'd-!"

"Maybe if you paid more attention, you would be able to answer the questions," Nelliel chirped in reply, a teensy bit smug. "And," she added, "you might be able to do _this_." Turning back to the intense eyes of the prisoner, she carefully pieced together her words as she spoke in his native tongue. "I," she attempted, "is Nelliel Tu Odelschwanck."

Ulquiorra stared at the pair, scrutinizing them. After a contemplative pause, he nodded in acknowledgement and replied, "I am Ulquiorra Ezmado Cifer. Why am I here?"

Before the girl could answer, Grimmjow grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet. "We go to Father," he ordered in a low voice, "now."

"But he's talking to me!" Nelliel protested.

"Did you hear what he said?! 'Ezmado Cifer!' This little brat is _his_ descendant! Do you understand how important this is?!"

"If I can bring Father more information, won't it make him happier?" the hazel-eyed young woman insisted. Having silenced her half-sibling, she crouched down again and smiled kindly at the emerald-eyed boy. He did not smile back, but that didn't stop her from trying to answer his question. "You here because Father not want to kill," she stated choppily, her tongue feeling larger than normal as it formed around the unnatural sensation of the words.

Ulquiorra didn't bother to censor the sudden, unexpected rage that flooded him. _Tact be damned. _"That did not stop him from butchering the rest of my village, did it?" he questioned much more sharply than he had intended.

Alarmed by his sudden change in demeanor, Nelliel did not resist when Grimmjow pulled her up and to his side protectively. The blue-haired young man growled and spat back, "Look, you. I don't give half a damn what in the hell you're pissed at in the first place, but no one – _no one_ – yells at her!" Seething, he added, "Except me! Only I get to do that!"

"Tell that to Nnoitra," Nelliel giggled lightheartedly.

"Wait, what? He's – again?! Damn it, Nel, why didn't you tell me?! Son of a bitch – I'll rip his freakin' arms off!"

"Where is Murciélago?"

The pair stopped, both looking at the boy who seemed to have gained new determination. "What?" Grimmjow sneered. "What the hell is a 'Murciélago'?"

"I don't know," the turquoise-haired dame replied, just as perplexed as her companion. "I don't recognize the word."

Unable to ignore his frustration, Ulquiorra sighed in defeat and hung his head. In doing so, the half-loaf of bread caught his eye. Purposefully, he began to tear it, taking the crisp crust and forming it into a crude, but accurate enough pictogram of the winged beast. Pointing to it, he persisted, "Murciélago – the dragon. What happened to him?"

"_Dragón_," Nelliel repeated in awe. Looking to her half-brother, she explained, "He's asking about the dragon. He wants to know what happened."

The spiky-haired young man's eyebrows knitted. "You sure?"

"Yes."

To the others' shock, Grimmjow stepped forward, grabbed the rough recreation in his large hands, and tore it. Throwing the pieces to the ground, the older boy snapped, "See that?! You don't need to understand what I'm saying to get it, do you?! The dragon is done for! Got it?!"

Nelliel squeaked in surprise as the pale internee leapt to his feet and socked the elder male in the nose. He would have continued, too, had not his advance been cut short by the shackles around his wrists. In return, Grimmjow turned to the boy with blazing rage in his eyes, which was returned by nothing more than a cool, unfazed glare. After all, Ulquiorra had stared into eyes that contained _real_ fire. This stupid blue monkey did not frighten him in the least.

Growling, the burly male surged forward. Having been reminded of his limits, the pale boy retreated until he was sure the chain would not hinder him. He watched as the strange-haired young man drew closer, and, at the last possible second, he sidestepped and kneed the older lad in the gut. With a quick extension of his leg, he sent the muscular individual reeling back.

Neither of them heard Nelliel cry out for them to stop. Invigorated and infuriated, Grimmjow stepped forward again, blocking with one hand and punching the prisoner in the side with the other. Using his greater mass, he forced the boy against the wall and struck him several times in the thorax. Despite the undeniable crack of bone that echoed in the empty room, the raven-haired teenager did not respond except to jab the taller male in the throat.

When the spiky-haired man stumbled back, his knees weakened as he strove for breath, and he made the mistake of bending over. Without hesitation, Ulquiorra wrapped the loose chain around the young man's neck, trapped him in a headlock, and held on tightly as the older boy thrashed.

However, the pale adolescent had not realized that the young woman's pleading had caught the attention of the guards. Before Grimmjow had even passed out, the duo of soldiers had pulled the prisoner off of their lord's son. As Nelliel unwound the chain from his throat, the sentries had restrained the silent, but struggling boy, each holding one of his arms locked in their own.

As soon as the blue-haired male made it to his feet, his half-sister clung to him, both because she needed to hear his heart still beating and his lungs still breathing beneath his heaving chest, and to prevent him from attacking again. Through the clenching of his fists in the fabric of her shirt, she could tell how badly he wanted to take his revenge. Responding, she tightened her grip on him in a silent urge for him to calm himself.

Ulquiorra stopped fighting the unshakable grasps on his arms and sighed. Unwittingly, his breath shook. Each inhale and exhale broke more and more until his respiration came in choppy, painful wheezes. His chest ached, and though he knew he could blame it on Grimmjow's attacks, he could feel the blackness of despair swallowing him. His aunt and uncle and cousins, annoying as they were, were dead; his neighbors were dead; his village was gone. Murciélago, his last reason for existence, was torn apart, a rotting carcass in the pile of ashes that remained in the valley.

He should have died with them.

When the glinting steel of a dagger caught the orange glow of the firelight, he did not hesitate. Kicking the guard in the knee, he wrenched his arm free, grabbed the knife, and brought it to his own sternum. He had hardly drawn blood when the sentinel recovered and snatched back his weapon. For good measure, he struck the boy across the cheek and yelled a curse at him. After throwing him to the ground, the sentries retreated beyond the reach of his chains, bringing Lord Aizen's children with them.

With his raven hair falling over his face and touching the ground, Ulquiorra lay on the ground and trembled. He gasped for breath and even choked as his throat constricted, but he did not cry. Crying would not bring them back. Crying would not fill the hole in his chest. He would do anything to satisfy the emptiness: kill; kill himself; eat; starve; remember; forget; hate. But he would not cry, and he would not hope.

Long after the others left, and with them the torch that they had brought with them, he lay in his despair which was too dark even for him to see through.

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><p><strong>Love, Amaranth<strong>


	7. Carnival From Hell

**Thanks to clea for reviewing! **

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><p>Awoken from his dead slumber, Ulquiorra was hauled to his feet. His wrists were unshackled, only to have them cuffed behind his back. Roughly, he was pushed forward so suddenly that he nearly stumbled, but, catching himself, he glared back at the guard who had pushed him and saw him flinch in fear. He sensed his mind darken just a bit as the thought occurred to him: how much more afraid would that man be if Ulquiorra were to reach into the sentry's chest and tear out his heart?<p>

He did not have much time to wonder, however, for he was soon grabbed by the arms and guided toward the stairway that led to the world above. When they entered the hallway, he squinted, his eyes burning from the sheer amount of white light that poured into them. By the time his eyes adjusted, he had been pushed through the halls for a significant distance. The unfathomably tall, smooth, white walls towered around him. If this was the size of the _hall_, how large was this building in its whole?

Now and then, Ulquiorra bothered to struggle, but after a time, he resigned himself to seething silence. Instead, he observed. They passed no one – not even a random servant – which made him believe that they had specifically cleared his route in order to avoid others. There were several escape routes: secluded hallways, small, tight stairways. However, he saw no windows except for the ones at the top of the smooth walls which poured the bright, desert sunlight into what he could only assume was a palace.

At last, they came to a colossal white door, so similar to the walls that Ulquiorra would have missed it had it not been for the polished, black hinges and golden handles. They opened under what seemed to be an unseen power, and the prisoner was pushed through.

Inside, upon a high pedestal and a massive throne, sat the same brown-haired man who had been at his village. The pale boy recognized him immediately. Around the sides, on similar pedestals of lesser height, were smaller thrones in which sat more members of the court. Some of the chairs were empty, but he did note that the two strange-haired young adults were present, although they sat on opposite sides of the hall. He saw the silver-haired man and the dark-skinned man with the visor, too.

He focused blankly ahead as the guards stopped. He felt all eyes settle on him, gawking, but he paid no mind. It was nothing new.

Quite unexpectedly, however, he felt something sharp touch his throat. He looked up fearlessly into the umber eyes of the man who held the white sword in his hand. The man lowered the blade, seeming impressed.

"Do you understand me, Ulquiorra Ezmado Cifer?" he questioned, speaking perfectly in the dialect that the boy was accustomed to.

There were murmurs of surprise. Apparently, his knowledge of the old language had never been discovered.

Ulquiorra, however, was not alarmed in the least. Instead of replying, he stared, fire and ice raging in his gaze.

"This is an impressive sword," the leader remarked, brandishing it. Eyeing it curiously, he continued, "I've never seen its equal. The materials are fantastic; even the jewels are imbued with magic. That," he explained as if he were the boy's tutor, "is why you cut so easily through through the amor of my vanguard. Did you know that?"

Despite the fact that he had not, the raven-haired adolescent did not respond.

Suddenly, Lord Aizen grabbed the prisoner by the back of his neck, forcefully exposing his windpipe and pressing the tip of the sword to the pale flesh. "What if I severed your head with your own sword? Wouldn't that be ironic, Ulquiorra Cifer?"

Externally unwavering, Ulquiorra continued to look into the lord of Hueco Mundo's eyes. Internally, however, he begged the gods to force fate's hand and let him join his people in the afterlife.

Unfortunately, fate decided to be cruel. Aizen sheathed the sword and tossed it to Gin. Smirking, the ruler of the white palace experimentally flicked the boy's temple. He did not show any sign of irritation or pain.

"You are a stubborn child, aren't you?" he mused, chuckling dryly. "Come, now. Entertain me, boy. Do _something_: please. Life does get ever so boring here."

Ulquiorra raised an eyebrow. He was not a puppet to be played with; as far as he was concerned, this slick, cruel man could find another marionette.

"Fine." Placing two fingers between the teenager's intense emerald eyes, he taunted, "Try _this_."

A glorious, albeit unexpected flash of violet filled the pale youth's gaze. Immediately afterward, a rush of blazing, throbbing agony accosted his head, so violent that his throat and eyes seemed to beat with the protesting rhythm of his heart. His skull was being squeezed in a vice; he was sure. Though he shut his eyes tightly, the violet light did not fade from his sight. The pain continued; burning, thumping, aching, searing pain.

Ulquiorra did not make a sound. Though he bit the inside of his lip until it bled, he did not even allow a whimper to escape his throat. His knees grew weak, but he braced himself and remained standing. He would not give the man the satisfaction of seeing him crumble.

When, at long last, the anguish ceased, he calmed his breathing and opened his eyes to find everyone staring at him in shock except Aizen. He, on the other hand, seemed immensely intrigued.

"How?" he questioned, sounding almost excited. "You should have fallen; you should have writhed at my feet. You should have screamed and begged as if you endured the ultimate torture. Why did you not?"

Finally, Ulquiorra spoke. "Mighty as you may be," he whispered, never once breaking the king of Hueco Mundo's gaze, "you are weak in comparison to a dragon."

"So your own dragon has attacked your mind, hm?" Lord Aizen prodded.

"He searched my memories and found me worthy: yes," the boy answered, unfazed by his taunt.

"And you have no power to resist? You are," the umber-eyed man inquired, "completely void of magical energy?"

Ulquiorra blinked. His people did not use magic; it existed in lore, but not in every day life. He had never tried to access magic in any shape or form; why would he? What could be done with magic that could not be done by human hands? What could be revealed by magic that could not be better seen by human eyes? "I do not know," he replied finally, finding no harm in answering such pointless questions.

Aizen began to circle him, still speaking. "I like you, Ulquiorra. I enjoy watching you fight. In fact, I like it so much, I am going to put you in the ring."

Perplexed, the pale boy queried, "What is that?"

"Oh, you will find out. But first," he added as he came to face the adolescent again, taking the boy's chin in his hand, "I want you to close your eyes, and push me."

Ulquiorra's eyebrows furrowed. "Push you? I am restrained."

"Do you hate me?"

"Yes," the lad answered.

"Then push me."

"I would rather kill you."

"If you can push me, I will teach you how to use Mundan magic," Lord Aizen pledged. "Then, maybe – just maybe – along with your sword skills, you will gain the ability to kill me. Now," he ordered sternly, tightening his grip just slightly, "close your eyes, and push me."

Reluctant, Ulquiorra obeyed. After a moment, he saw the bloodied, burnt bodies of his people, and the split, gutted carcass of what he imagined Murciélago looked like at that moment. Then, he remembered that the man in front of him was responsible for their deaths.

The rage came again; so sickeningly sweet that he nearly choked on it as it flooded his veins. It appealed to his darkness, and the destructive hole in his chest consumed it greedily. The grotesque images flashed before his closed eyes: oh, all the ways he could destroy Aizen. He would not only push him back; he would break the chains on his wrists, take back his sword, and decapitate the bastard before slicing his body into a thousand pieces. He recalled the smell of blood: the taste of it as it sprayed on his face. He would do it with his own hands, not through magic. He wanted to _feel_ it; the muscle being torn and the bone cracking and breaking.

A loud _thump_ followed by an equally loud _crack_ echoed through the room. Panicked cries of "Lord Aizen!" arose in the room, and Ulquiorra felt his guards' presence vanish as they ran to help their king.

His eyes opened, and he found that the king was no longer in his face, but slumped against the front of his pedestal. He was uninjured for the most part – sore, perhaps, but nothing more. The ruler of Las Noches stood, brushed himself off, and glanced back at the cracked stone before looking at the openly surprised boy. "Fascinating," he remarked, approaching again. Rolling his shoulder with a loud _pop_, he looked the prisoner in the eye and wondered aloud, "Now, were you able to do that because of the extent of your power, or the power of your hate?"

Since he did not know the answer, the pale teenager did not reply.

"You make every effort to spite me, don't you?" Aizen chuckled. "Interesting. Very interesting. Gin," he ordered, turning his back on the silent boy, "prepare him for the ring. I want him fighting at this evening's tournament."

"A bit quick, don't ya think?" the silver-haired man prompted as he raised a thin eyebrow.

"He can handle it," the king responded. Shrugging, he added, "And if he can't, he's of no use to me anyways."

The two guards grabbed ahold of him again, and he was made to follow the lanky man with the silver hair.

Ulquiorra was locked in a white room with half a dozen servants, and over the next few hours, he was made "presentable," as they called it. With his hands still restrained, he was stripped of his clothing and scrubbed down with icy water and soap. It was humiliating, being washed like a petulant child, but he held his head proudly and did not protest. They dressed him again in new clothing: a fitted, white, sleeveless top that fastened up the front; a pair of loose, white trousers that were easy to move in, and a pair of white sandals. It felt pleasant, but the color was only a shade brighter than his own skin which, even in his village, had been unnaturally pale. His unruly raven hair was brushed roughly, pulled back into a short stub of a ponytail at the base of his neck.

At last came the part he thought was oddest of all. He was strapped to a table beneath a blinding light, and a dark-skinned, burly man with a strange, bleached mohawk drew on his face with a needle that stung and blazed every time it touched him. For what seemed an eternity, Ulquiorra held himself stiff, resisting the urge to flinch even when the strange man forced his eyes to close and began to draw on the bottom lid. He would save his strength, he decided, and when he saw his opportunity, he would kill every one of them for what they had done and what they had allowed to be done, and if he died in the process, all the better.

When the man was done, his cheeks were bandaged, and he was not allowed to see what they had done to him. In the meantime, his hands were unchained and re-cuffed in front of him, and he was given another plate of simple food. He was not foolish enough to refuse it, so he ate. Above all, however, he appreciated the water. Every time he had emptied his glass, it was refilled by a silent servant. For the first time since the night his village had been destroyed, his throat was eased.

As soon as he was done eating, he was made to wait. After what he could only assume was a few hours, the dark-skinned man returned and removed the bandages from his face. At last, he was given a small, hand-held mirror in order to inspect himself. The tattoos, formed into two long, green stripes just a shade darker than his eyes, began at his lower eyelid and trailed down to his chin. It looked as if he was perpetually crying; he knew Aizen had ordered it on purpose, both in reference to his name and to mock him. What he did not understand, however, was why it was necessary for him to be marked.

"Why have you done this?" Ulquiorra questioned. The man with the mohawk looked at him with disdain and did not reply. As such, the boy resolved to ask Aizen, even if the answer he got was a convoluted, mocking one.

His chance came sooner than he expected. Again, he was forced through the halls of Las Noches. He was led down into an iron cage, and before he was locked inside, his bonds were removed. One side of the cage faced the darkness of the tunnel which led to the castle, and the other faced a large, sandy arena. From his disadvantageous spot, he could barely make out the end of the high walls and the beginning of endless rows of seating that seemed to be filled.

"Hm. They suit you."

Ulquiorra turned to the king and demanded, "Why? Why did you have your man mark me?"

"So you can be recognized in the ring, of course! All my fighters are tattooed," Aizen revealed, smirking.

"The girl?" Ulquiorra pressed, his eyes narrowing as he thought of the young woman with the fuchsia tattoo across her nose. "Your daughter? You force your own daughter to fight for sport?"

Snorting, the umber-eyed man leaned forward and whispered, "She volunteered. The poor girl feels the need to prove herself to me. And my," he chuckled with a click of his tongue, "what a fighter she is. It almost makes me wonder if I was wrong about her..." He trailed off, thinking for a moment before he added, "Then again, I'm never wrong. Grimmjow fights on occasion as well, as do many of my children."

As the roaring cheer of thousands diverted the prisoner's attention, Aizen remarked, "They are raving about _you_, my boy: the child who killed a thousand men."

"It was not a thousand. It could have been no more than a hundred."

"But a thousand makes you sound so much more formidable, hm?"

"But it is a lie," Ulquiorra retorted firmly.

The king laughed. "And you think that matters to me? Why tell the truth when a lie will suffice?"

Another clamor of enthusiasm shook the hallway, and Aizen smirked. "Well, I suppose I ought to go above. They won't start without me, after all."

Before the lord of Las Noches could turn away, the pale adolescent interrupted, "Wait. What about my sword?"

"I am keeping it safe."

"How am I to fight, then?"

With a dismissive glance back, Aizen replied, "You'll figure it out. And if you don't, I'll enjoy watching you die." That said, he disappeared into the dark.

Only a few minutes later, the cage door facing the sandy area sprang open. Steadily, allowing his eyes time to adjust to the light, Ulquiorra exited. On all sides around him rose circular walls at least fifteen meters high. The entire ring was surrounded by a dome-like cage that let in the sweltering, dry, oppressive sunlight. Beyond the cage were thousands upon thousands of people watching and cheering as the players made their way into the ring. Opposite him stood a pair of men, both tanned darkly, marked with red, and holding large, intimidating scimitars. They wore armor, but it was far more crude than that of the vanguard that had attacked his village. Weaponless and expressionless, the emerald-eyed boy stared at them and waited for them to move.

He understood the rules: kill or be killed. Though they had not been said, Aizen's language had implied it. As the pair approached, he fought his inherent will for self-preservation. _Let them kill you_, he told himself. _Death is preferable to captivity._

However, when the first man – the taller one – swung at him, Ulquiorra found himself ducking and kicking the man's legs out from beneath him. Before he could stop himself, the rage flared, and, having finally found an outlet, the boy picked up his enemy's dropped sword and thrust it through the dark man's unprotected skull.

The screeches of joy surrounded him. _Barbaric_, he thought as he looked around at the crowd who were all rejoicing at his display of carnality. Already, though, with the hastened beating of his heart and the increase of adrenaline, the despair and hatred flowed faster through his being. Not knowing how to fight it, and not particularly wanting to, he allowed it to consume him again if only to satiate the starving hole in his chest.

In moments, his second opponent lay dead, his arms, legs, and head severed from his torso.

"Were these your weakest, Aizen?" Ulquiorra called up, fearlessly meeting the gaze of the king. "If you want me to play your game, at least give me some sort of challenge!"

Seconds later, another man was pushed out into the ring. The boy could not see a single inch of his skin, for he was so covered in blinding armor that none of it showed. It did not matter, though. The moment the armored man made the mistake of being within the pale adolescent's reach, he slipped his blade between his enemy's breastplate and helmet. His pulled the scimitar away bloodied, and the gurgling, gasping, choking sound rang in his ears before his foe fell.

The next opponent managed to strike at his sword a few times before he died; the one after nicked his forearm. One after another, Aizen's playthings were sent out, and one after another, Ulquiorra cut them down. By the time he had defeated a dozen opponents, his white clothing was blotched with the crimson blood of his enemies, and the occasional stain of his own. He had been cut across his left arm, and his neck had a long, still-oozing slice on the side where the eleventh fighter had nearly decapitated him. Aside from a few additional scrapes and bruises, however, he was altogether unharmed.

Laughing, Aizen clapped from his balcony as the last man died. "Very good, Ulquiorra! Very good, indeed! Now," he called out, "I shall, indeed, give you a real challenge! You may want to run for your life, boy!"

Focused and unfazed by Lord Aizen's taunting, Ulquiorra turned toward the sound of clanking and clacking metal. As soon as his opponent stepped out into the sunlight, his emerald eyes widened. "No," he rejected. Again, he looked to the smirking, umber-eyed man. "I won't do it."

Unfazed by his protest, the turquoise-haired woman walked into the ring to the tremendous cheers of the crowd. Nelliel brandished her blade. Her hazel eyes which had once been full of emotion and warmth were nothing more than cold, hard, unforgiving orbs that stared at him unwaveringly.

Glancing between the king and the young woman, Ulquiorra declared, "I will not fight you. Aizen, I will not fight her!"

"Why?"

To the boy's surprise, it had been Nelliel who had asked the question. Adamant, he persisted, "I do not fight women, much less kill them."

Still unwavering, Nelliel advanced on him and replied, "You don't have a choice."

Though her attempt at his dialect was still choppy, the raven-haired youth filled in the blanks easily. "Actually," he retorted pointedly, "I do." With that, he tossed the scimitar to the side, far from his own reach, where it embedded itself in the sand. Sitting on the ground, he crossed his legs, bowed his head, and closed his eyes in silence.

After a long moment, the confused murmurs of the crowd turned to boisterous protests. The people cried out for him to stand up and fight, but he did not move or even open his eyes as his opponent circled him. Deliberating, Nelliel inspected him impassively. She had walked around him slowly three times, her blade continually pointed toward him, but when he did not show any sign of changing his mind, she halted before him and held her blade beneath his chin just as the king had earlier.

"Stand up." Nelliel's voice was quiet and gentle again, but desperate. "Please. Fight. You don't have to kill me." Unable to hide the tears that dripped down her face, she pleaded in a hushed whisper, "You can incapacitate me. You can refuse to kill me. I'll accept the disgrace and never fight in the ring again, just please, _stand up_ and _fight me_!"

"In my village, women are regarded as necessary and precious. It is forbidden to spill a woman's blood. Only special circumstances are excused," Ulquiorra responded, unmoving.

"And having a woman point a sword at your throat isn't one of them?!" the hazel-eyed girl questioned, growing more and more pressured between the roaring of the crowd and her resolute conscience.

"No. It is not," the pale boy answered. Wholly and unashamedly blunt, he divulged, "The only exceptions are accidents and copulation. Since this is neither an accident nor are we mating, I am not permitted to harm you according to the laws of my people."

Flustered, so much so that the color of her cheeks rivaled her tattoo, and frustrated, Nelliel burst, "Your people are dead!"

"But I am not!" he snapped back, his emerald eyes remaining closed despite his reaction. He exhaled once, deeply and slowly, before demanding, "Kill me. Your father will not show you any mercy if you do not."

Trembling, she lowered the blade so that its tip pressed against his sternum. She adjusted her grip, preparing to thrust it through his chest. Over and over, she apologized in a miniscule voice, but his mention of Aizen had crushed all the other factors warring within her.

"Nelliel."

Her hazel eyes widened, and she looked up at the king. The calm, almost pleased man lowered his open palm slowly. With it, Nelliel lowered her sword to the ground.

Sensing that his death had been thwarted, Ulquiorra opened his eyes. Emotionlessly, he looked up at the lord of Las Noches only to be met with a strange combination of amusement and condescension.

"My, my, Lord Aizen," Gin chuckled as he rose from his seat. "He's a rather naughty little boy, isn't he?"

"Yes," the brown-haired man agreed even as the crowd around the ring cried out in rage, "he is."

"Naughty children are to be punished," Tōsen resolved. "Isn't that right, my lord?"

"It's only proper parenting."

Smirking, the silver-haired man hummed, "Oh, dear! That poor boy has no idea what he's in for, does he? Well," he shrugged, turning his back to the ring, "I'm afraid I won't be able to stick 'round. It's time for me to be returning. If I don't get back soon, people are going to wo~orry!"

"Of course, Gin," Aizen acknowledged. With small smile back at him, he bid, "Take whatever you want with you to maintain the guise. Say hello to Lord Yamamoto for me, hm?"

"Will do, Lord Aizen!" the squinting male chirped before he vanished into the darkness of the hall.

Turning back to the pair in the ring, Aizen ordered, "Kaname, have the boy brought back to his cell, and send Szayel and Nnoitra to greet him. I'm sure it will be an educational experience for the both of them."

Bowing, the dark-skin man replied, "As you wish, my lord."

* * *

><p>"Don't touch that needle, fool! You'll ruin the balance I've so carefully achieved in his vein!" the pink-haired young man snapped, slapping his half-brother's hand away.<p>

"Shut up! I didn't drag my ass down here to play with little needles; Father sent me down to beat this freak to a pulp!" the unfathomably tall and lanky fellow retorted.

Irritated, the smaller of the two argued, "But don't you see? Your brute force will be so much more impressive once the drug takes its effect!"

"C'mon, Szayel! You don't even know if it's going to work!"

"I've refined my method, Nnoitra! Please, don't insult me until you see the results!"

"All right – I'll wait until you fail, little pink bastard!"

Huffing, Szayel flipped his bright hair out of his face. Intrigued, he turned to the silent, inattentive prisoner chained tightly to the wall. His chains had been shortened to the point that he had no choice but to stand, his hands suspended above his head and his torso bared to what he expected were his torturers. He remained still and relaxed as the young scientist removed a large, thin needle from his neck. He did not struggle, as he did not particularly want a long piece of metal stuck inside him.

After a long moment, Nnoitra questioned, "How long is this going to take?"

"I'm not certain. The needle was coated with a new serum, so the concentration is different, and the metabolization speed is going to be altered. However," the pink-haired male mused, lifting a single finger and twirling it idly in the air, "I should say it's going to take it's effect..." Pressing his fingertip into the pale man's pectoral, he predicted, "Now."

Ulquiorra gasped. It was short and barely audible, but in the empty room, they heard it all too clearly. He hadn't expected it or been able to contain it, however, because the moment Szayel's nail had dug into his skin, an unseen sword had pierced him through. Slowly the ripping sensation of his flesh faded to the point where it simply ached like a fresh bruise, but he already knew that this ordeal would not be as pathetic as he had expected.

Szayel's expression turned to one of awe. "It's perfect! Every pain receptor in his body is hyperactive, and he's completely unable to block it out! If Father was right, he shouldn't have even blinked! It works!" he laughed, utterly overjoyed.

"All right, all right!" Nnoitra barked. Shoving his half-brother out of his way, he grinned widely. His grey eyes glinting maliciously, he thrust his fist into the prisoner's gut.

Through gritted teeth, the raven-haired boy groaned, and his hands grasped the chains which fastened him to the wall. Pain worse even than that of Aizen's attack on his mind spread from his abdomen through the rest of his body. Violent tremors wracked him up and down as every cell in his body protested the impact it had received.

"Damn, this shit of yours is good! Even this tight-lipped twit can't keep it up!"

Readjusting his spectacles, Szayel replied, "Of course. I told you it would be."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever! Just gimme that knife, will ya?"

"Remember not to kill him, Nnoitra. Father wants him alive."

"I get it already! I'm not gonna; I'll just cut on him a little is all!"

During their bickering, Ulquiorra looked at them coldly and scoffed, "Barbarians."

They may have not understood the word, but they knew the tone. Irate, Nnoitra turned back to him and gripped him by the throat. The emerald-eyed man grunted, and his lungs began to burn, flames hot enough to incinerate him consuming his chest.

"Y'little bastard," Nnoitra hissed, tightening his grip. "Don't talk to me like that. Y'hear me? You ever use that tone with me again, and I'll kill ya. Get it?! I'll rip out your guts and throw 'em in your face!" Smashing the boy's head against the wall, he released his hold and watched with sadistic pleasure as he hacked and wheezed, fighting to fill his blazing lungs.

"Now," the tall antagonist seethed as he snatched a short, curved blade from his comrade, "don't move too much, or I won't be too responsible if you die. But," he added, smirking as he touched the cold, sharp metal to the pale lad's heaving pectorals, "y'better not quiet yourself too much. Szayel here, the sick little bastard, is gonna need to know just how well this stuff of his works. So, it'd be best for all of us," he concluded while he began to drag the knife downward, drawing blood as he went, "if you just scream already."

Hours later, Nnoitra emerged from the dungeon, his white garb splattered with crimson, some spots already dry and others fresh. He closed the door behind him and turned instinctively, meeting the cool gaze of the hazel-eyed girl. Flashing his large teeth at her, he advanced, asking, "Well, Nelliel, why would you be lurkin' out here, hm?" He leaned over her, bracing himself with one arm on the wall. "If you had wanted to watch the show, you just had to ask, y'know. Y'didn't need to sit out here, just listenin'."

Pointedly, the turquoise-haired woman questioned, "Is he dead?"

Already mildly irritated with her calm facade, the tall man snapped, "No. He passed out. Szayel says blood loss or some shit. He's down there cleanin' up now, just to make sure Father's new favorite plaything ain't gonna kick the bucket."

"I see." Sighing and smiling, Nelliel whispered, "That's good. I'm glad."

Nnoitra grit his teeth and spat, "Damn you! You stand out here, listenin' to the bastard squeal – which, whether ya heard it or not, I swear t'ya, he did – and then you act all concerned! What the hell is so special about this little twit anyway?!"

"He intrigues me," she replied simply.

"Is that your way of sayin' he makes ya hot?" the lanky young man taunted, grinning. "I bet he does. He's got the same damn way of stayin' calm as you do, but with all this wild, untamable passion underneath, huh? Damn, sounds good, don't it? I might just rut him myself. Be good in bed, I bet. Wouldn't ya say, y'little whore?" he jibed, clearly enjoying the opportunity to make her uncomfortable.

However, Nelliel showed no sign of irritation or embarrassment. She exhaled again and shook her head. "You are a perverted sadist, Nnoitra," she remarked.

"And you are an infuriating masochist, Nelliel!" the grey-eyed male barked as he slammed his fist against the wall above her. Gripping her wrist with his free hand and digging his nails into her pulse, he cackled, "Don't think I don't see it, Nelliel! You like this; you like the pain! You're so cold and dead that only when every bit of you aches and screams, you finally feel alive, and you like it! So what if I'm a sadist? You're my perfect opposite! Ain't it just grand, Nelliel?!"

Ignoring the biting pressure in her skin, the impassive young woman stated, "You are insane, Nnoitra. And," she added flatly, "you are also my half-brother. Whatever incestuous fantasies you have dreamed up, I swear, they will never happen."

"Ha! That's what you think! Look at ya, Nelliel! All curvaceous and glorious – just as much, if not more so, as Tia and Mila Rose! An' trust me, I've been lookin'! But," he prodded, his grey gaze growing predatory, "you cover it up, temptin' and teasin', saying, 'It's all here – all you gotta do is rip off my clothes and take it!' Y'think I'm the only one who's got their eye on you?! Don't be so hopelessly naïve!"

Nelliel blinked at him once. "Nnoitra," she commanded, "let go of me, or I will break your fingers."

"Damn, you're violent! You're just doin' it to turn me on, right?! Damn temptress-!"

"Oi! Get your filthy hands off her, son of a bitch!" Trapping his older half-brother in a headlock, Grimmjow hauled the tall man to the ground. He wound his legs around the lanky male and urged, "C'mon, Nel! Kick him in the nuts while I got 'im down!"

Icily, Nelliel looked at her blue-haired companion and remarked, "How crude. I will do nothing of the like; violence returned for violence achieves nothing but destruction."

"Huh? What the hell, Nelliel?! I just heard you threaten to break his fingers!" Grimmjow fumed.

"That was when I was fending for myself. Now, such measures are not needed. Violence can be avoided."

"You listen to Tōsen too much!"

"And you ignore him to often," the turquoise-haired girl replied. Her eyes softened only slightly as she expressed, "Thank you for protecting me, Grimmjow. Please, let him go now."

After a moment's hesitation, the cobalt-eyed man released his hold on his brother and rolled away. Coughing and spitting out curses between gasps, Nnoitra lay mostly motionless on the white floor of Las Noches.

"Grimmjow," Nelliel requested, "will you come with me to see the prisoner, please?"

"Damn, what am I, your bodyguard?!" Grimmjow snapped. Nonetheless, when she didn't respond and continued toward the dungeon anyways, he followed her into the dark.

Halfway down, they met Szayel coming upward. "Oh! Going to see our new friend, hm, sister?" he asked the young woman. With a smirk, he remarked, "How enchanted with him you've become, hm?"

Dismissing Grimmjow's growl behind her, she responded, "I've just come from dealing with Nnoitra. Please, don't add to it."

"Ah, I see. Well, for the sake of my continuing safety, I won't," he shrugged, referring both to Nelliel and Grimmjow's agitated states. "Go on, then. I won't be bothering him any more today. Careful with touching him, though," he called as they descended past him. "He might still be a little sensitive!"

The torch was still burning when they arrived at the bottom floor of the dungeon. On the dirty floor curled into a trembling ball was Ulquiorra, his arms, torso, and neck entirely mummified with bandages which were already stained with blood in places. Even his palms, where his nails had dug into the flesh and broken the skin, were wrapped in white cloth. If possible, he was even paler than usual, his complexion nearly ashen. However, he still breathed, though through the shudders that accosted him even in sleep, the newcomers could easily tell that he was still in pain.

Grieved, Nelliel knelt at his side and moaned quietly, "I'm so sorry, Ulquiorra. If you had just done what I had said, this wouldn't have had to happen to you!"

"The hell are you talking about, woman?" Although his tone was gruff, it was also quiet and almost fond. "If he had beaten you and left you alive, this would be you instead. It's better this way."

"How can you be so biased?" the turquoise-haired girl sighed, exasperated.

"How can you?!" Grimmjow questioned. Irritated, he scolded, "If you had lost, and not died, you know Father would have been merciless. He would have made you wish for death; he would have humiliated you. Can't you see? This pale freak sacrificed himself for you, but you don't even have enough faith in him to believe he can take the consequences of his actions! He knew that it would be bad, even if he expected to die! You say I'm biased against him, but you're biased against yourself! How screwed up is that, huh?!" he pressed adamantly.

After a long moment, Nelliel brushed the prisoner's matted hair out of his face. She stared at him for a few seconds before declaring, "I'm going to teach him the Common Tongue. If he's going to make it in the long run, he's going to need it." Looking back at her half-brother, she stated, "And you're going to help me, right, Grimmjow?"

"What the hell? Don't drag me into this!"

"If Father teaches him Mundan magic and we teach him the Common Tongue, then he'll be able to function as part of Hueco Mundo and part of Las Noches! He's the only one who still speaks the old language all the time; he can't possibly fit in!"

"Why do you want him to fit in so badly?!" Grimmjow yelled. Seething, he demanded, "What's so damn special about _him_?!"

"You said it yourself," Nelliel reminded. "He sacrificed himself for me. I have to pay back his sacrifice."

"Something tells me he didn't view it as much of a sacrifice, since there's not much left of him after the massacre," the blue-haired man reminded.

"It doesn't matter. I'll repay what little of him he gave for me with what little I have to give. Help me," she resolved, "or don't. But I'd like you to help me protect him, at least until he can protect himself in Las Noches, hm?"

It didn't take much deliberating on Grimmjow's part, what with those hazel eyes staring at him like he could save the world by saying yes. "Ah, damn it! Fine! I'll help you teach the punk how to speak the Common Tongue!"

"Thank you again, Grimmjow," Nelliel smiled. Turning back to the sleeping man, she whispered, "And thank you, Ulquiorra. You won't regret my friendship; I'll make sure of that."


	8. Dreams and Imaginations

**Thanks to nokturnallight, lil, and northpeach for reviewing!**

**To answer nokturnallight's question for everyone, Aizen has lots of babies because he's a perv. Most of the Espada are his children from multiple wives, but not all of them (Zommari, Baraggan, Kaien/Aaroniero, and Starrk are not). His children (the Espada and friends) all have different reasons for fighting for him, for example Grimmjow likes fighting while Nelliel is after Aizen's approval. So, yeah! :)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Fidgeting nervously, Orihime resisted the urge to bounce on her toes. She folded her hands in front of her, smoothing out the blush-pink skirt of her dress. In the bright, cheerful light of the noonday sun that shone gloriously and warmly into the courtyard, the gemstones sewn into the fabric scintillated and cast blinking refractions about her. She twitched as she felt a thousand eyes drifting over her, some lingering and others brief.<p>

However, all attention turned to the back of the open, marble area as a chorus of trumpets sounded, and the reason for the gathered crowds and nearly ostentatious ceremony stepped into the sunlight. Adorned in his formal, black, white, and gold-embroidered uniform, the man with uncannily orange hair strode purposefully toward the royal family awaiting him atop the polished stone staircase.

His intense, dark-brown gaze momentarily met her own, and she couldn't suppress the flaming blush that touched her cheeks, so she looked away as quickly yet casually as she could manage.

When he reached the second to top step, he knelt before the king, queen and princess, his head bowed. Kisuke glanced at his smiling wife, smirked, and began, "Ichigo Kurosaki, do you swear to guard and honor the royal family of Karakura?"

"I do," the flame-haired man resolved.

"Do you swear to uphold and revere the laws and statues of Karakura Kingdom?" the king further questioned.

Nodding, Ichigo answered, "I do."

"Do you swear to protect and respect the land of Karakura?"

"I do."

"And finally, do you swear to cherish and defend the people of Karakura Kingdom, even at the cost of your own life?" the sandy-blond patriarch inquired.

The soldier nodded firmly once again. "I do," he replied unwaveringly.

With a swift flip of his ornate fan, Kisuke grinned and announced, "Then rise, Captain Kurosaki, fifteenth commander of the Royal Guard!"

As Ichigo stood, the crowd burst into thunderous applause and cheers. They doubled deafeningly when the king pinned the golden insignia to the young man's chest.

Orihime smiled and clapped along enthusiastically. She felt her heart thrum as he bowed to her father, then to her mother, and at last to her with his lopsided, satisfied smirk revealing his pearly teeth and a single, sharp canine. As she always did whenever he so much as glanced in her general direction, she blushed.

However, her attention strayed as servants began to cart dozens of delicacies, and joyful string music echoed in the air. Since the ceremony was over, the celebration could begin. While not a very traditional addition to the ritual, Kisuke had insisted that the party take place. As he had explained to Ichigo, who had been resistant to the idea, "Being a leader is comprised of many things. Trustworthiness, kindness, wisdom, strength, bravery, vision, and more. However, the most important element of leadership is to know when to relax, and what better way to relax than a great, big hullaballoo?"

As such, Orihime immediately found solace in a piece of vanilla cake smothered with light, creamy frosting. The dessert had been topped with strawberries already, but for good measure, the princess had scattered a spoonful of spiced vegetables to create a balance of sweet and spicy.

Humming to herself, the amber-haired girl swayed back and forth. The sweet melody danced in her ears as the flavor of the cake played on her tongue, bringing a grin to her lips. The light of the sun warmed her back pleasantly as she watched dozens of couples dancing, companions chatting cheerfully, and dignitaries conversing. Perfectly content just to observe and eat her cake, she made no move to join anyone.

"Not in the mood to party, Princess?"

Squeaking and accidentally letting her fork clatter to the ground, Orihime jumped and turned to the newly appointed captain who had appeared at her side. "I-um-what?" she stammered, blinking her wide autumn eyes at him.

The young man chuckled and crouched to retrieve her fork. Twirling the delicate metal utensil in his fingers, he presented it to her with a small bow.

Her attempts to avoid touching his fingertips with her own failed, causing a her face to turn beet red. With her fork back in her possession, she stifled an anxious whimper and attempted, "I-I'm not _not_ in the mood. I'm just watching."

"Watching?" His eyebrows furrowed, and he scowled a bit. "Watching what?"

"The people," she answered simply. "They're so... interesting. They're all so different from one another, and when they dance, they look almost magical."

Ichigo blinked, first at her and then at the crowd. No matter how he tried to see what she was seeing, he couldn't. They were just people, and they were just dancing. There was nothing incredibly remarkable or magical about it.

"Congratulations," Orihime peeped after a moment. "It's an incredible accomplishment. At just twenty, you're the youngest Captain of the Guard Karakura has ever had."

"Am I?" the orange-haired man inquired, genuinely oblivious to the fact. "I suppose that makes sense."

"Father says you're very gifted," the princess continued, a bit more confident. "And... I have to agree."

Avoiding his gaze, she blushed again as she recalled the first day she had seen him. Kisuke had taken her to see the first day of training for the new recruits of the royal guard, who had been promoted from the city guard, the year before. Despite the fact that they had sparred with blunt swords, she had still cringed every time someone had been knocked down or hit.

At one point, her adoptive father had pointed to Ichigo. No matter how many times he had been knocked down, he had always leapt to his feet again. No matter how many opponents he faced, he never faltered, and he never lost. Even with intense determination and fire in his eyes and a frown on his lips, Orihime had become hopelessly enchanted.

"I am? Huh. Thank you," Ichigo replied casually.

He had that way about him; he could be talking to the king himself, but his personality never changed. He was always passionate, but friendly; always stalwart, but inherently kind. He treated everyone like his equal, whether they were above or below him. It was comfortable and wonderful, she decided.

For a moment, she wondered if Tatsuki was right; maybe she _was_ in love with him.

Before long, Captain Kurosaki excused himself and went off to talk with his former classmates, who, she heard from afar, all jokingly whined about having to call him "sir" or "captain." From beneath her eyelids, she watched him go, hoping to hide the longing she knew would be there.

He had no idea; he could never know, she decided. After all, she was not only a princess, even though she was adopted, but she was only fifteen – five years younger than him! Surely, he would find love in someone closer to his age.

Nonetheless, she wasn't quite ready to give up all hope yet. At times, she wondered if she ever would have had a real chance if Sora had never died, and she would have lived as a common person, just like Ichigo was. She would still be younger than him, but at least she wouldn't be of a higher rank than he.

Orihime sighed softly. To her shock, she found herself swept off her feet, her father's laughter ringing in her ears. Kisuke, of course, had seen his daughter's gloomy cloud. When he set her down in the midst of the dance floor, he began to twirl her, making her dress flare and shimmer brilliantly. He winked at her, silently communicating that she could spill her heart later. Comforted, the princess smiled and began to step to the bouncing beat of the music.

As midday waned into evening, the guests departed steadily. The last to leave was Ichigo's family. His father, a physician in the city, blubbered; the elder of his twin sisters rolled her eyes; and the younger twin joined her father in sobbing almost comically. Embarrassed by their smothering, the captain struggled hopelessly against their enthusiastic embraces. At last, they relented, leaving the hot-headed man to shift back and forth awkwardly as they left.

With stars in her eyes, Orihime watched from her balcony as Ichigo turned to head inside. Sighing dreamily, she hummed quietly to herself and gazed off into the colorful sunset.

A swift whack to the back of her head snapped her out of her thoughts. She yelped, turned around, and cried, "Tatsuki! What was that for?!"

The surly, spiky-haired young woman huffed and rolled her eyes. "You were drooling! What if Ichigo saw that, huh? You wouldn't want him to know that you're stalking him!" she scolded.

"I do not!" the princess denied.

A deep belly laugh came from the servant as she teased, "Says the girl who dreams about him!"

Orihime blushed furiously. Yes, she did dream about him, but all her dreams with him usually involved knights in shining armor, dragons, rainbows, and unicorns. At times, her dreams strayed into sillier realms – fighting creatures from other words, eating until they were so large they could hardly move, hugging fluffy animals and crying for the sheer adorableness of it – but in all of them, she was overjoyed to be with him.

Seeing her friend had zoned out, Tatsuki rolled her dark eyes and flicked the princess' temple. "Hey, stop daydreaming! By the way, your bath is ready," she informed. "It's smells like hibiscus."

"Oh, I love hibiscuses!" the fifteen-year-old girl cheered. She bounced off the balcony, her dress, her hair, and her large chest bouncing with her.

After she stripped eagerly and sunk into the glorious warmth of the massive, pink sandstone bath, she leaned back and let her head submerge in clear, hot, sweet-smelling water. It flooded over her, heating her and easing the tension she hadn't even realized she had been carrying. Her breath caused bubbles to stream toward the surface, delighting her to no end.

When she surfaced, Tatsuki began to rub soap into her princess' hair. As always, she began by scrubbing vigorously, but after a time, the intensity of her movements eased, and she began to gently massage the amber-haired young lady's head. She ensured that not a single strand went unattended as she twisted and rubbed the long, silky locks.

Before long, Orihime dozed off. As she had done so many times before, Tatsuki had no trouble emptying the tub, patting her dry, dressing her in her nightgown, and carrying her back to her room. Servants smiled fondly as the two passed, but none of them dared to offer help lest their nose become intimately familiar with Tatsuki's fist and their eardrums burst from her refusal of their assistance.

After situating the radiant girl in her massive bed, the maidservant stepped into the princess' walk-in closet and went about picking out her outfit for the next day. It was usually a mutual endeavor, but whenever Orihime fell asleep in the bath, the spiky-haired woman did it herself.

Finding nothing that particularly caught her eye, the lithe lady-in-waiting ventured further into the back. She pushed aside a bright green dress when something caught her eye. Curious, she shoved the immense row of dresses off to the side to reveal a large, painted canvas. It was nearly as tall as she was, but she pulled it out into the light to inspect it.

A pair of dark, somber emerald eyes stared back at her. The painting, from the pectorals up, was sharp and angular, but not thin or bony with defined collarbones and cheekbones. His skin was almost tanned, as if he had once had pale skin that had been darkened by the desert sun. His jet-black hair nearly brushed his shoulders, his jaw was set firm, and his gaze captured her own. It was cold, yet flaming beneath the surface; weary, yet determined; calm, yet intense.

"Orihime," Tatsuki whispered, "you painted this? Who...?"

Turning over the canvas, she noted the date – over a year before – and "Ezmado Cifer." Orihime's name was scrawled on the back, too. She had painted it during her course in Mundan history, Tatsuki surmised.

However, why would she be hiding such a stunning piece of art in the back of her closet? Could it be that Orihime was insecure about the quality of the painting? Or, more likely, she was embarrassed that she had made him so lifelike even when portrayed in such a passionate and almost romantic manner?

A folded piece of note paper tucked into the wooden frame of the canvas stole Tatsuki's attention. Opening it, she read the words written in Orihime's neat, but creative and swirly handwriting:

"_It's crazy, but it's like he's staring at me through the pages. He's been dead for hundreds of years, but I feel like when I see his picture, I know him. It must be his eyes. He had lost everything; his home, his friends, his hope. I look at his picture, and I read his story, and I see a man who is clinging to his last purpose in life: his wives and his children and their future. _

"_But then I think further, and I realize that's not all he had. He had his revenge for his family and friends who Lord Kyōka Suigetsu and his army had killed. I think of that, and I feel so sorry for him. It must have been horrible to live only for your own hatred._

"_Sometimes I worry I made him too lifelike in this painting. I can't bear to hang it on my wall or show it to Papa, because I know he'd hang it somewhere. Every time I walked past it, I would feel him staring at me and calling out for me as if I could save him._

"_But he's dead, and even I can't bring someone back if they're dead._"

Cautiously, Tatsuki placed everything back as she had found it. Taking the green dress off the rack, she carried it into her princess' room and laid it out. She checked on the amber-haired girl one more time before snuffing out the candles and leaving the room.

As she rounded a corner, she startled at the sight of a stocky shadow standing in her way. Trembling, she hissed, "Damn it, Chad! Don't scare me like that!"

The taciturn man offered, "Sorry."

As soon as she overcome her fright, the spiky-haired servant sighed and asked, "What did you want?"

The towering guard stared at her from beneath his bangs without a word; she knew the answer to that already. Silently, he extended his hand.

After a moment of struggling with herself and her pride, Tatsuki took it and relaxed her fingers as he entwined his own with hers. She could feel his heartbeat thrumming in his palm, and her own soon speed to match it. Stuffing one hand into the pocket of her trousers, she allowed the her currently secret suitor guide her through the candlelit hallways.

"Ichigo's a captain now," the thin young woman remarked.

"Hm."

"You have to call him 'sir,' y'know."

"Ichigo said not to," the tanned male responded. "He hates titles."

"He needs to calm down and get a girlfriend."

At that, Chad snorted quietly, and a smirk touched his lips.

"Then again, what sane woman would have him? They'd have to be crazy," Tatsuki resumed. Thinking immediately of her best friend, she mused, "She's crazy, but I don't think it's the right kind of crazy."

The massive rectangle of a man furrowed his eyebrows and questioned, "Who is?"

_Damn, her thinking out loud is infecting me_, the dark-eyed woman thought. "No one," she recovered quickly, knowing that he wouldn't pursue it any further.

True to her expectations, he let it drop, mumbling something about "women things."

They settled outside in the courtyard beneath the stars, neither of them saying a word. With her head on his bicep and his hand engulfing her own, they sat contently in the warmth of their blossoming love.

* * *

><p><strong>A bit of cute to end it there. XD<strong>

**Love, Amaranth**


	9. House of Fire

**Thanks to clea, northpeach, and Cerice Belle for reviewing!**

**Also, northpeach, to answer your question: YES. Yes, you can most definitely hope quite a bit.**

* * *

><p>"Cero." The air vibrated and heated, humming for only a moment before it exploded into a ray of blinding, scorching green light. The three men caught in its beam were unable even to scream before they were incinerated.<p>

Clapping, Aizen walked into the ring. "Very good, Ulquiorra! You've improved!" he congratulated.

Ulquiorra turned to the king impassively. "I don't see why I must practice magic on helpless prisoners," he remarked.

"Would you rather I have them tortured to death?" the ruler of Las Noches questioned. "We both know how unpleasant that would be. Using them as Cero targets is far more merciful, don't you think?"

After a pause, the pale man stated simply, "Your concept of mercy disturbs me."

Invading the boy's personal space, the umber-eyed patriarch whispered tauntingly, "At least I have one, hm?" When the teenager refused to react, he smirked and withdrew. "Ever the stubborn child. After two years, wouldn't you think you would learn to cater to my will?"

"Given two decades, you know full well I would still resist you," Ulquiorra replied straightforwardly.

"And yet you continue to fight every time I tell you to, and you have yet to let your hand slip." With a nonchalant scoff, the king noted, "One would think you enjoy killing people. Tell me, Ulquiorra, every time you kill, do you imagine it's me?"

In his pockets, the pale young man's hands fisted tightly. This was what Aizen did and what he had done continually for two years; riled him until he was tempted to lose to control. The only time he was ever given the satisfaction was when the emerald-eyed lad was in the ring, but he still attempted it regularly. Already, Ulquiorra could feel the tension pressing his well-built wall. It boggled him how irritating a single man could be. Even Grimmjow could not compare to his father.

"Of course, you do. You'd never admit it, though: never admit that the only thing driving you is your all-consuming desire for revenge," the ruler of Las Noches teased. "Why, if you did _finally_ kill me, you'd have nothing left. You'd likely commit suicide, wouldn't you? Are there any rules against that tucked away in your personal code? Of course, it's completely useless, being that it's based off of the principles of a dead race."

With that final remark, Ulquiorra's self-control snapped just enough for him to take a hostile half-step forward. Immediately, an invisible force slammed into his chest, throwing him back several meters. However, he managed to flip in midair, land on his feet, and skid to a stop in the shifting sand. Exhaling slowly, he pressed down the instinctive urge to attack. There was a tournament later that day, he reminded himself. He could let loose then.

In the back of his mind, he wondered when he had begun to look forward to those savage death matches. He wondered when the senseless murder had become a casual pastime. Lastly, he wondered what his parents would think if they could see him now. He didn't want to think about it, but he knew they would be horrified by what he had become.

"Oh, and, Ulquiorra." Aizen's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "I have a present for you this evening."

"What is it? Some drug of Szayel's you need to test?" Ulquiorra questioned.

Chuckling, the king inquired rhetorically, "Still angry about that, are you? But no, it isn't a drug. It's a surprise."

When Aizen had a surprise, it was never a good thing. However, as there was no point in arguing, the raven-haired young man let the matter rest. "Fine."

"That's a good boy. Now," Aizen ordered as he turned and walked away, "go get something to eat. I want you at your best for this evening."

The pale seventeen-year-old watched him go. Although he contemplated shooting a Cero at his back, he knew from his previous attempt that it would be deflected with ease. Therefore, he simply glared at the ruler of Las Noches' back, not moving until he had vanished from his sight. At last, with one glance at the piles of ash that would soon be swept away by the wind, Ulquiorra headed inside the massive palace.

Over the years, he had been allowed to go throughout the castle without guards. At first, he had thought it incredibly careless of Aizen, but after time, he realized that it was another way for Aizen to mock him. He knew he could do no significant harm. It did not stop him from fantasizing, however, about razing the stone palace and everyone in it to the ground.

"Ulquiorra! Ulquiorra, wait up!"

_Well_, he thought despite himself, _perhaps not everyone_. Impassively, he turned to the turquoise-haired girl and gracefully sidestepped as she attempted to barrel into him. Of course, she regained her balance easily and twirled around to face him with a kind smile on her face. From the corner of his eye, he noted her two older, full-brothers, Dondochakka and Pesche, rounding the corner warily. However, he spotted not even a flicker of blue.

"Where is Grimmjow?" Ulquiorra questioned, not bothering to greet her.

Nelliel shrugged. "Probably somewhere in the castle."

"Hm." He to the right, then to the left, and finally up. His emerald eyes narrowed. "Grimmjow."

"Dragon Boy," the burly young man jeered from above. He lay upon one of the supports of the towering hall, glowering down at the pale lad. "Sis."

"Grimmjow! What are you doing up there?" the voluminous belle cried. "Come down before your hurt yourself!"

"Quit bossing me, woman!" Grimmjow spat. "I'll stay up here as long as I want to!"

Her lips pinched tightly, and she exhaled steadily through her nose. Turning on her heel, she called with a brilliant smile, "Dondo! Pesche! Let's go eat, huh?"

Her brothers, despite them both being older than her, obeyed. They cast nervous looks at the two young men as they passed, but kept their focus overall on their dearest baby sister.

As soon as the three had vanished, Ulquiorra closed his eyes and sighed silently. "You are a fool, Grimmjow," he began.

Nimbly, the blue-haired man dropped to the stone floor. Straightening himself and adjusting his jacket, he looked in the direction they had gone and snorted, "Yeah, so I've heard."

After arguing with himself about whether or not to butt in, the pale lad remarked, "She is only trying to look out for you."

"She treats me like a baby!" Grimmjow complained. "I'm twenty-one damn years old! I don't need a nanny anymore!"

"She does so because she, for some incomprehensible reason, cares about you," Ulquiorra countered. Before he could be interrupted, he persisted, "Yet you continually reject her efforts to show it. If that is not foolish, what is?"

For a moment, the elder of the two paused, appearing to contemplate his almost-friend's words. As soon as that moment passed, however, his jaw set, and he hissed venomously, "Stay out of my business, Dragon Boy! What goes on between Nel and I has nothing to do with you!"

Undeterred, Ulquiorra pressed, "Perhaps not on the relational level, but your petty arguments and steady separation are interfering with my studies."

Grimmjow's eyebrows furrowed, and he questioned, "The hell are you talking about?"

"You and Nelliel are supposed to be teaching me the idiosyncrasies of the Common Tongue at mealtimes, are you not?" His intense emerald eyes watched every emotion play across the ostentatiously muscular man's face as he continued, "I cannot very well study when you two are estranged and bickering."

Several seconds passed before Grimmjow understood; this was Ulquiorra's indirect way of saying he was worried about them, even though he denied it even to himself. The relationship the blue-haired man and Nelliel had built up over their entire lives was falling apart at the seams. _Of course, it is,_ he thought bitterly. She was so gentle and serene and kind, even though she had the ability to be ruthless, and he was violent and angry and tumultuous. He couldn't recall the last time he had said anything kind to anyone. He couldn't even fathom how they had managed to stay close for so many years.

The thought only served to anger Grimmjow further. "Get off my ass, Ulquiorra!" he barked at last, purposely brushing past the lithe young man. "I'm gonna go call a whore, so don't come looking for me or some shit!"

"And if Nelliel asks where you are," Ulquiorra called nonchalantly, "what do I tell her?"

Though his back remained rigid, Grimmjow paused and sighed. "Tell her I'm takin' a nap," he answered in a low, quiet grumble.

Out of the corner of his eye, the pale teen watched him go. Once he was out of earshot, he sighed. "Fool." He had watched the two drift apart the past year. Grimmjow had been rebellious before, but he grew more and more cantankerous and disrespectful and violent each day. Add to that his increasing affinity for the prostitutes that came calling on the palace, and it was no wonder he had little energy for relationship.

Nelliel had changed, too. She had grown quieter and more pensive, and she smiled less often. She worried more; she trusted less.

Ulquiorra supposed it was only natural since Aizen was a psychopathic bastard. Sometimes, though, on good days when Nelliel laughed and Grimmjow wasn't so angry, he almost forgot that his entire purpose in life was to find his moment and murder their father. However, those days were few and far between especially as the years went on.

When Ulquiorra joined Nelliel and her brothers in the massive dining hall, she offered him her smallest smile before passing over the book she had been reading. Even as he began to read the text, a trembling servant placed a plate in front of him and scampered off.

In silence, he ate as he read the history textbook with its large, intimidating words and complicated vocabulary, never removing his gaze from the page. Though he was fully aware that the woman across from him was scrutinizing him, he didn't allow it to distract him. Instead, he focused on comprehending the strange, foreign language she had placed in front of him. While he had mastered the verbal language, his proficiency in the written language was coming along more slowly.

A short while after he had finished his meal, the young woman inquired, "How's it going?"

"It is going," Ulquiorra replied vaguely as he turned the page.

Nelliel smirked and hummed in affirmation. After a long hesitation, she ventured, "Hey, Ulquiorra, do you think Grimmjow-?"

"I think he is a perverted idiot who should not be so quick to take offense at your attempts to solidify your friendship," the raven-haired teen interrupted. "And," he added before she could defend him, as she always did, "I think you need to stop forcing your interactions with him and lying so he will like you, because it is not working."

Flustered, the hazel-eyed belle denied, "I haven't been lying!"

"You pretend everything between you is fine and has not changed in the past year," Ulquiorra pointed out. "Whether it is your actions or your words, it is the same."

When she leaned forward on her forearms and smiled, he paused in his reading. "Ulquiorra," she sighed fondly, "you really do care."

With no emotion whatsoever tainting his stoic countenance, he denied, "No. I do not. It is merely inconvenient for me to be dragged into the middle of your tawdry conflict, and since the two of you seem determined to include me in your lives, I have no choice but to encourage its resolution."

Matching his indifferent expression, Nelliel stated, "It really hurts to hear that kind of thing from a friend."

"I am not your friend," the emerald-eyed adolescent replied, meeting her gaze coldly. "I am your father's prisoner, remember? If you pretend it is otherwise, you merely lie to yourself. The only reason," he continued, "I spend time in your presence is because I have nothing better to do."

He watched her reaction; he had hurt and infuriated her. However, just as she did with Grimmjow and Nnoitra, she thinned her lips, locked her jaw, and compressed the anger in her spirit. All that remained of her was her deadly aura. Finally, just as she always did, Nelliel stood and walked away with her babbling brothers on her heels.

What little was left of his conscience scolded him for upsetting her. It was silenced almost immediately when something else within him reminded him that he had long ago lost his capacity for compassion and his ability to fully experience emotions. It seemed that Aizen had affected him, as well.

That man was a disease, Ulquiorra had decided – one that he would erase from the world the moment he had the chance.

After finishing the chapter Nelliel had assigned, he retired to his room to await the tournament. His quarters were meager – a bed, a dresser full of a dozen of the same outfit, a small bookshelf, and a desk and chair for his studies – but sufficient. Atop the desk were neat piles of paper, most of which were covered with words he had been practicing recently.

Laying back on his bed, Ulquiorra closed his eyes, meaning to sleep until the tournament began. Instead, he found his mind straying to the bitter scent of blood and ash as inclinations of dispassionate, casual violence floated through his thoughts. He considered Grimmjow violent due to his constant fighting and arguing, but was he not just as bloodthirsty in the darkness of his own mind? The opponents he was pitted against in the ring were just as intent to kill him as he was to kill them first, but that did not stop him from replaying their deaths in his head without remorse.

Sometimes, he wondered if he would wake up one morning and realize he despised himself. Yet, more and more as time went by, he ended up simply not caring. He neither hated himself nor thought highly of himself. Perhaps he regarded himself as a tool with which to kill Aizen, and nothing more. Even if he searched his mind, he found no answer to his own existential questions.

One thought, though, plagued him. It haunted him day and night, clinging to him and sucking the life from his soul like a vicious parasite.

_I should have died with them._

The only reason he hadn't, he had concluded, was to avenge them. No matter how much time passed, he swore to himself, he would kill Aizen. It could take years more for him to gain the power to overcome the king, but on that day, he would kill him and burn Las Noches to ashes to be blown away in the temperamental desert wind. Murciélago may have been dead, but he had left enough of his fire within his human to take revenge upon the murderers who had killed him. All Ulquiorra needed was the power to use it.

_Is that why? _he wondered. Sitting up, he stared at his pale hand which would be drenched in blood by the time the day was over. _Is that why I am willing to fight? To train myself, to gain power, to kill Aizen? _

The day would come when Ulquiorra would tear out the king of Las Noches' throat, but Aizen was right; on that day, with his vendetta put to rest, he would have nothing left to live for.

For a long time, he dwelled on such thoughts until at last, he was alerted that it was time to leave for the ring. Tying back his raven hair, which had grown down to his shoulders in the past years, he exited his room and headed for the entrance to the ring.

He had memorized the path; he arrived in his designated cage without even thinking. He looked out at the sand and felt its warmth in the heat of the sun, but that was not his focus. He could hear the people of the city chattering as they filled their seats. Their excitement, which had once revolted him, both nauseated and infected him as he felt adrenaline flood his blood. He had once wondered how they could be so thrilled for the gruesome scene about to unfold before them, but soon he had begun to feel the same.

In the back of his mind, he believed that without an outlet for his buried rage, he would have forgotten what simply _feeling_ felt like.

"Ulquiorra Cifer."

Distracted from his thoughts, the pale young man turned to the king's visor-wearing assistant. To his shock, which he swiftly concealed, Tōsen offered him a pristine white sheath containing the equally ivory sword which he had not seen since he had first arrived in Las Noches.

"Lord Aizen sends this with his regards," the dark-skinned man declared.

Nearly reverently, Ulquiorra grasped the blade and savored its weight. He felt the magical energy, which painfully reminded him of Murciélago's heavy, warm aura, thrum through his hands as he touched the decorative hilt. How had he been so oblivious? The dragon had retrieved the materials for the sword from his own horde, which he had been using to amplify his power for centuries. The jewels and Murciélago's power had intermingled intimately. In a sense, he held the dragon's soul in his hands.

When he looked up to question why the sword had been given back to him, he found that Tōsen was gone.

Securing the weapon to his belt, Ulquiorra turned to face the entrance to the ring. His confidence renewed and his mind cleared and cleaned of darkness, if only for a moment, he readied himself to step into the sun's scorching, merciless heat.

Grimmjow was the first exhibition. From within his cage, the emerald-eyed male watched him turn into a vicious animal, whose attributes he had begun to show in his regular life, as well. Man after man, each desperate to survive, were destroyed – ripped open, dismembered, blasted away with vibrant blue Ceros, and sometimes sliced in half. Grimmjow preferred hand-to-hand combat, which Ulquiorra had steadily grown to appreciate as well, often opting to snap a neck or thrust his hand through a throat rather than slice it open. With each kill, his grin widened; with each crack and tear of bone and sinew, his laugh became louder and more insane.

Finally, drenched in blood and dusted with sand, the blue-haired man departed from the ring. The cheers of the crowd never once ceased.

Szayel fought next, the screams of his victims ceasing only when they died from the poisons and acids he coated his sword and gloves with. After him, Zommari, being the pompous fool he was, promulgated his own superiority as he cut down his opponents. Next, Nelliel entered the ring, her hazel eyes cold. For someone who hated violence, she was awfully good at it. She swiftly ended contestant after contestant, never prolonging their suffering longer than necessary. Slaves, criminals, and soldiers of fortune all fell at the hands of Aizen's fighters while he watched the needless bloodshed in amusement.

At last, Ulquiorra's turn arrived. He was the last fighter of the day. He was Aizen's prize; the pièce de résistance; the wild, murderous child he had tamed and molded to become his best, most deadly asset, or so Aizen had told the general population. No one outside of the palace knew, however, that even Aizen had to respect Ulquiorra's moral boundaries. After the first time, the king had not placed Ulquiorra up against a woman, nor had he ever pitted the pale lad against anyone younger than him. He would not risk interrupting a fight again.

The gate creaked and clanged as it opened, and the pale teenager stepped into the light. The cheers nearly deafened him as he reached the center of the ring and waited.

_One_. The man wielding a massive battle-axe was efficiently brought to his knees with a kick to the groin, and his neck was immediately snapped.

_Two_. The warrior with an ugly scar across his bare chest received a foot in his stomach, causing him to double over, and sword through his back and into the dust.

_Three_. His white sword already stained with blood, Ulquiorra easily bifurcated the burly, mail-covered male with one swipe.

_Four_. The rail-thin criminal, trembling in his boots but clearly resolved to live, thrust his spear forward, only to have it yanked from his hands and plunged into his skull.

_Five. Six. Seven. Eight_. He counted them, just as he always had, adding to his total. He remembered every one – their methods, their eyes, the sound of their dying breaths – though they had never once weighed down his soul.

As the one-thousand-fifty-seventh fell, the crowd clamored for more. He had stopped looking at the faces of the spectators; he knew all he would see was bloodlust. No life, no hope – just death.

"Very good, Ulquiorra!" Aizen called from his throne. "Now," he continued with something akin to glee in his brown gaze, "it is time for your surprise, my boy!"

Not excited whatsoever, Ulquiorra flicked the majority of the blood off his sword and glanced toward the sound of clattering metal. The massive entryway to the ring, usually used for releasing dozens of fighters all at once, who all always lay dead within several minutes, rose slowly. Unintimidated, the raven-haired combatant headed toward the opening gate.

A warm, soft, sulfur-scented breeze washed over him.

Ulquiorra froze in his tracks. The breath repeated, and he trembled as his eyes grew wide in uncensored shock. The sword in his hand resonated.

Murciélago's pained cry – the one that had finally convinced him of his death – filled his mind. Grimmjow's voice echoed with it. "_The dragon is done for! Got it?!_"

As an obsidian head exited the shadows, however, Ulquiorra could not deny what his eyes saw. A single, jade eye glanced around. The other eye was gone, left with a scarred, gaping socket. The beast emerged, and the human saw more and more of him. Scales had been torn off, leaving messy, rough flesh behind; his wings seemed to have been torn and sewn back together in multiple places, leaving them functional but oddly deformed. Three spines on his back were missing, as well as a talon from each massive paw. Still, as the sunlight glinted off the shining, opaque scales, there was no doubt.

"You're alive." Awed, the emerald-eyed boy stared openly. As he noted the extensive injuries, he, for the first time in years, felt truly and honestly concerned, as well as enraged. "What have they done to you?" he sighed. Sheathing his sword, he took a step forward. "What did they do to your eye?"

As soon as Ulquiorra moved toward the dragon, Murciélago turned his gaze to him, causing the boy to tense once more.

The intelligence was subdued. The once wise, intense countenance of the ancient creature was replaced with insanity and rage. No more did his eye reflect his thoughts; all that remained of him was the beast.

Murciélago roared, the sound causing the spectators to cover their ears. Ulquiorra, however, standing in the direct blast of scalding heat and noise, could not move. Even as his breathing grew heavier with fury and an inkling of fear, he did not move from his spot.

Aizen had planned it from the beginning. He had trained Ulquiorra to be a slaughtering machine; he had tortured Murciélago until he was nothing but a murderous beast, his mind broken and overtaken by instinct. Finally, at last, he had put them up against each other so he could sit back and laugh at the anguish of the boy's simple realization.

_Murciélago is going to kill me_. His mentor; his best and only friend was going to break every bone in his body with a single swipe of his tail, crush and drain him with his teeth, or burn him to a pile of ash – perhaps all three in that particular order. He was going to die, staring into that jade gaze which had once brought him comfort.

Murciélago took a step forward, and the sand beneath them shifted, but Ulquiorra did not move. Everything in him demanded that he run, but he would not. This was the height and the end of his despair – to die by the claws of the last thing that mattered to him. Murciélago was alive, yes, but soon, Ulquiorra would not be.

Repeatedly, a loud clanging resounded through the ring. "Damn it, Ulquiorra!" Grimmjow's voice, full of irritation and even desperation, reached the pale man's ears. He had leapt up from his spot in the royal family's seating to bang incessantly on the massive cage. "Damn you, fight! Don't just stand there and die, you son of a bitch! Fight!"

Slowly, as the thought formed in his head, Ulquiorra looked toward the blue-haired man in indigence. There was only one reason Grimmjow would plead with anyone: guilt. _You knew_, the pale man thought accusingly. _Two years, and you **knew **Murciélago was alive._

Finally, the emerald-eyed male realized one last thing. Aizen wasn't stopping Grimmjow – not even a glance or a word was exchanged. It didn't matter to Aizen. Either Murciélago would kill Ulquiorra, or Ulquiorra would kill Murciélago. In either case, he gained a broken, mindless beast to be unleashed upon his enemies.

Turning back to the dragon, Ulquiorra wondered if he could help him remember. He hadn't, after all, attacked yet. Instead, he hesitated, growling deeply.

Spreading his arms in a gesture of surrender, the pale man began, "Murciélago, it's Ulquiorra. Look at me." When the creature glanced around with flame in his gaze, he repeated more firmly, "Look at me!" Once again, jade met emerald. "I am not a threat to you. I will not harm you. I am a friend." Tentatively, he shuffled forward. "You have no reason to fear me," he pledged.

Just as Murciélago's angry grumbling ceased, a thin, focused, purple beam of magic hit him in the neck and exploded. Ulquiorra spun on his heel to denounce Aizen, but the damage had already been done. Provoked once again, the obsidian dragon howled in rage as he stomped forward.

When scorching heat licked at his back, the crashing, rumbling roar of fire filled his ears, and green flooded his vision, he ducked and rolled out of the way of the superheated flames. His pant leg combusted solely from the surrounding heat, but his roll in the sand put it out. Leaping to his feet despite the twinge in his leg, he turned to face Murciélago.

He would not kill him. Even if it cost him his life, he would not kill him, and he would not leave him to be endlessly tortured and subjugated by Aizen. Whether Murciélago's mind surfaced eventually or not, he would not leave him to die a slow and painful death.

With a swift flap of his wings, the obsidian reptile thrust forward. Ulquiorra stood his ground, fearlessly staring down his friend who had succumbed to madness. Even when Murciélago reached forward with his massive claws, the pale boy did not flinch.

Ulquiorra grit his teeth as the dragon's forefoot collided with his chest, knocking him down and pinning him to the sand. He expected to be crushed immediately, but instead Murciélago glared down at him with malice and confusion in his eye. The pressure on his entirety, especially his pectorals where the majority of the weight was focused, was uncomfortable nearly to the point of pain, but he did not struggle or charge a Cero in an attempt to escape.

The crowd shouted, and Murciélago growled. The mighty beast added pressure to the body of his trapped victim, and Ulquiorra was forced to take a deep, difficult breath to calm himself. Unwaveringly, the emerald-eyed adolescent questioned, "You want to kill me? Fine." His throat constricted, but he choked out, "I don't care anymore. I want to save you, but you seem intent on killing me. Go ahead." As the dragon's snout came almost to his face and his breath nearly singed him and caused his eyes to water, he dared, "Do it, Murciélago!"

"Ulquiorra!" Grimmjow, with Nelliel on his heels, had descended to the entrance of the ring. Grunting with exertion, he lifted the gate himself and rushed out onto the sand. "Blast him! Get up! Run!"

Scoffing, Ulquiorra muttered, "You fool. It seems you have a conscience. Who knew?"

Murciélago ignored the other two, judging them to be too far away to interrupt him. His eye glinted viciously, and his mouth opened. Green fire gathered in the back of his throat and glowed through the dark cavity into Ulquiorra's stare. Tensing in rage and fear, the lad closed his eyes. Enveloped in his self-made darkness, his soul calmed despite the terrifying reality of his impending doom.

Maybe – just maybe – he would find peace in death.

Something hard brushed against his head. Immediately, Ulquiorra went rigid as a thousand bolts of lightning shot through him, and flaming agony accosted his senses. He tried to resist, but his hastily thrown up wall was instantly demolished. He felt his mind being torn through carelessly – his memories, his thoughts, his feelings all flashing before him simultaneously. Time became irrelevant; current action and thought became nonsensical. Brokenly, he cried out.

The unearthly, tormented, entirely unfamiliar howl echoed throughout the ring and stopped Grimmjow and Nelliel in their tracks. After only a moment, she lunged forward, but the blue-haired man grabbed her and locked her in his arms. They could do nothing but watch as their self-declared friend writhed despite his limited availability of movement, gripping desperately at the shifting sand, and released low, hoarse, eldritch screams.

Suddenly, the violence of the Murciélago's search eased. Instead of a thousand talons ripping through Ulquiorra's head, the sensation transformed into a calm, but intense sorting through his mind. Still unable to breathe properly or move, he lay completely still – almost lifelessly as the great dragon finished inspecting the boy's mind for the second time.

_Ulquiorra?_

He heard the voice, deep, familiar, and confused, resonate through his head amidst the throbbing remnant of pain.

_Ulquiorra, what is happening? _Murciélago paused, the silence perplexed. _Your mane has grown. It was not two weeks ago when the attack occurred – why has your mane grown?_

"Two," Ulquiorra attempted, only to find his voice cracking and dry. Coughing, he tried again, "Two years."

_Impossible. The humans could not have deceived me so easily_, the obsidian dragon denied. After a pause, he asked, _Ulquiorra, why is it difficult to see?_

"Your eye," the pale boy answered wearily. "They took it."

Carefully, Murciélago lifted his foot from the human's form and growled, _That man. That man has caused you pain._

"And I fully intend to cause him more."

Before either of them could move, Aizen had lifted Ulquiorra from the ground, locked one arm around his left arm and his torso in an unexpectedly strong hold, and held a long knife to his throat. Similarly, Tōsen had appeared beneath Murciélago and thrust his blade up into one of the scaleless points of his underbelly.

As soon as the dragon had finished his pained roar, the king warned, "You best not move too much, Murciélago. Tōsen is very good, but if his blade sinks even a few more inches into your gut, he will pierce your heart, and you _will_ die." Looking to the gasping lad, he remarked, "You best remember that, too, for if you answer me incorrectly, Tōsen will kill your precious dragon. Do you understand?"

With the blade pressed tightly against his neck and most of his energy sapped, Ulquiorra could only nod shortly.

"Good boy. Now, you have one chance," the guileful brown-haired man cautioned. Smiling almost pleasantly, he ordered, "You will both swear by the lives of the other that you will serve me with the utmost loyalty. If one of you disagrees, I will kill the other. Am I clear?"

"No," the pale boy rasped. "Not Murciélago. Murciélago will not-"

Aizen pressed the knife into his neck, causing a small stream blood to trickle down his pale skin. "Say it again," he dared, speaking directly and sensually into the emerald-eyed adolescent's ear. "Say it again, and watch the last worthless piece of your blackened heart die."

Taking a shuddering breath, Ulquiorra closed his eyes and clarified, "My conditions are these; Murciélago will not fight in the ring. You will not harm him, nor will you order or overlook any more damage done to him. He will be free to come and go as he pleases."

"And yourself?" Sōsuke scoffed, amused. "You seem to have no care for yourself in this matter. Love is a terrible thing, isn't it?"

Forcing down his rage with some difficulty, he swore, "I will do whatever you want. I will fight in the ring; I will die for whatever cause. I will kill anyone you set before me."

_Ulquiorra! Stop! _Murciélago growled in warning.

"And what of your adorable vendetta?" the patriarch smirked as he scraped the boy's skin with the edge of the blade. "I can't very well go throughout life with you trying to kill me, can I?"

The scent of ash and blood once again filled his nostrils. He could taste it on his tongue – sharp and bitter and rancid as saliva slid down his throat with a tight swallow. How could he give up the last real thing he had to live for? How could he lose his moment? One day, perhaps, Murciélago would be gone, out of Aizen's reach, and he would see a chance and take it. How could he promise to swear off of his driving force?

Unless, of course, he lied.

He had always been honest to a fault, able to deceive but unwilling in nearly every circumstance. Among his people, lying was just as egregious a sin as thievery.

However, as everyone was so fond of reminding him, his people were dead.

"Well, my boy?" Aizen questioned, his index finger tapping idly on the knife's hilt and allowing it to dig into his artery just enough to draw blood. "What shall it be? Is your revenge truly worth your only friend's life?"

_Ulquiorra! Fool!_ Murciélago roared. _Is captivity so preferable to watching me die?! I have lived long; deny me, so I am not forced to deny you!_

"Then deny me now. If you can do it, do," the young man urged impassively. _Don't do it_, he urged, hoping Murciélago would see the plead in his gaze. _If you do, I will never be able to kill him._

When the dragon remained silent, seething, Ulquiorra continued easily. "I swear on Murciélago's life and my own, I will no longer attempt to assassinate you," he pledged. Fighting to still himself against the insatiable itch of the cuts in his neck, he declared, "I swear that I will bow to your desires in all things."

Chuckling, Aizen praised, "Very good, Ulquiorra! That wasn't so hard, was it? All you had to do was let go of your stubborn pride and your entire purpose for living these past two years!" he taunted, ever sounding like a proud father who had just watched his son preform a newly taught skill to perfection. "Now, Murciélago," he resumed, looking into the flaming eye of the obsidian dragon. "It's your turn, hm? Your dear human has already bargained the terms of your service. Either you agree, or I throw his severed skull at your feet."

After only a short hesitation, Murciélago bowed his head in consent.

Tōsen swiftly but precisely withdrew his sword from the beast's gut, dodging the small spurt of blood that followed, and Aizen lifted the knife from the lad's throat.

"Kneel." The order was just that – an order, authoritative and gloating.

As a slave to his master, Ulquiorra obeyed, falling to his knees and dropping his head reverently. "Yes, Lord Aizen."

"For what purpose do your mind, body, and soul exist, Ulquiorra Ezmado Cifer?"

"I exist to serve you, Lord Aizen," the raven-haired male answered unwaveringly, "and your desires."

Aizen's umber eyes, suddenly cold and stern, turned to his son. "Grimmjow. Come here."

Reluctantly, Grimmjow released his half-sister. Gesturing for her to stay where she was, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers and walked confidently toward his father. At the raising of Aizen's hand, he halted. He glanced at Ulquiorra, who had not risen, for only a moment before returning the king's stare with equal intensity.

"Who said you could attempt to help Ulquiorra?" the patriarch interrogated.

Snorting, the blue-haired man remarked, "Some attempt. I didn't do shit."

"I have told you before," Aizen reminded, disappointed, "not to let your emotions overwhelm your loyalty to me. You have come dangerously close, but today, you defied me outright. You know the rules; the fighter in the ring must fight alone."

"So what?!" Grimmjow snapped, open hostility flashing in his azure eyes. "If Ulquiorra had died or been incapacitated, I would've fought that goddamned lizard myself!" he declared as he pointed his thumb to his muscular pectorals.

"You are letting your emotions get the best of you."

"Better than being some dead, piece-of-shit zombie!"

"Grimmjow." Smiling patronizingly, the king instructed, "Remove your jacket."

Grimmjow complied, casting the white article of clothing to the sand violently. Opening his arms wide in a mocking invitation, he questioned, "What? You're going to punish me for doing nothing? For trying to protect my friend?! How noble of you!"

"No," Aizen corrected, his eyebrows furrowing seriously. "I am punishing you for your rebellious attitude. You will learn to respect me, or face the consequences."

"Screw you, Pops!"

Unrelenting, the brunette called, "Kaname. Do it." As the swarthy man rounded the king's son, Aizen warned, "Hold still, Grimmjow – just like that. Leave your arms as they are. I do not wish you to have more damage than necessary."

With two quick, graceful swipes, Tōsen had flayed the layer of skin with Grimmjow's tattoo, removing the black, gothic six that signified his rank among Aizen's children, and cleanly severed his left arm just below the shoulder. A small Cero blast later, the two pieces of flesh were incinerated, leaving a profusely cursing Grimmjow and a gasping and cheering crowd.

Nelliel's hazel eyes flew wide. "Grimm-!"

His azure eyes looked back at her, full of rage and warning. _Shut up, Nel! _

Groaning in agony as he bled, the blue-haired man gripped the stub of his arm with his right hand and blasted off a blue Cero. With the energy still swirling around his hand, he pressed his palm to the spot on his back, cauterizing the flesh. The sharp, tearing pain was joined by stinging, burning torment, but he did not relent or fall to his knees even when they buckled.

"Son of a bitch, Tōsen," he scoffed, his voice shaking. A mad grin formed on his twitching lips as he reached for his sword. "I can't get old Dad, but I sure as hell can kill you-!"

"Grimmjow," Aizen interrupted. Malicious and calculated, his gaze rested upon his illegitimate child. "If you attack Tōsen, I'm afraid I couldn't forgive you."

Fuming, Grimmjow glared at Aizen, Tosen, and finally Ulquiorra who still knelt obediently in his place. He straightened, held his head high, scoffed, and turned on his heel. As he strode out of the ring, he passed by his turquoise-haired half-sister, but did not even spare her a glance.

Despite that, she followed him wordlessly, her hazel eyes pitying, conflicted, and sorrowful.

Ulquiorra stayed as he was until Aizen told him to rise. Clearly testing him, the king flicked the pale teenager's forehead. Ulquiorra flinched, his eyes blinking and his head jerking away from his master's hand.

Pleased and victorious, Aizen smirked.

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><p><strong>Love, Amaranth<strong>


	10. Kingdom Skies

**Thanks to Cerice Belle, Vengeful Book Worm, 0001001, northpeach, clea, and nokturnallight for reviewing! **

**Special thanks also to Cerice Belle for her wonderful brainstorm help-y-ness and Vengeful Book Worm for going through and reviewing EVERY SINGLE CHAPTER!**

* * *

><p>"<em>Run."<em>

_A light in the darkness._

"_Orihime, run."_

_It is beautiful and terrible all at once._

"_Run, Hime."_

_It is a gentle fire burning in the jaws of Hell._

"_Run."_

_At any moment, it may burst destructively, blinding and burning everything in its path._

"_Run!"_

_If it is so frightening, then why am I so drawn to it?_

–

"Why are you being so damn quiet, Ururu?!"

Disturbed even in her deep sleep, Orihime moaned.

"Um... please shush, Jinta, or this won't work." Inhaling deeply and quietly, the dark-haired girl opened her mouth at the same time as her obnoxious younger brother.

"OH, WHAT A BEAUTIFUL MORNING!" they sang off-key in unison, with Jinta's loud voice easily drowning out his sister's.

Screaming shrilly, Orihime jumped and spasmed so much that she tumbled out of bed. Still shrieking, she tangled herself in her blankets on the floor and hyperventilated.

Jinta laughed. "Well, that worked!" he snorted.

Ururu blushed. "A bit too well," she added.

A moment later, their "nanny," a large, muscular, mustached man with dark hair and skin named Tessai, burst into the room. Stomping toward the children, whom the king and queen had taken in two years before, and ignoring their delighted yet falsely terrified screeches, he picked one up underneath each arm, apologized to the cocooned princess, and marched out of the room.

Slowly, Orihime's breathing calmed. After a bit of struggling, she freed herself from the mess of sheets she had been entangled in. Recovered from her fright, she leapt up and tossed the blankets onto the bed and cheerfully hummed on her way to her white and gold vanity.

As soon as she sat down, Tatsuki rushed into the room, grabbed the hairbrush from her hand, and insisted, "No! The last time you did your own hair, I spent _days_ brushing those ridiculous curls out!"

"But they were so fun!" the princess pouted, recalling the tight, afro-forming curls she had been so fond of. "My hair was bigger than the doorway! All those people had to squish it down so I could fit!" she laughed as she clapped her hands giddily.

A slight tug on her hair silenced her. "Chill out, would ya, Hime?" the dark-eyed girl sighed, half-frustratedly and half-fondly. "You're freaking out like some kid. You're eighteen today! Whether you like it or not, you're going to have to grow up a little some day."

Unbothered by her friend's somewhat critical remark, the autumn-eyed girl countered, "If I did, though, you'd have no one to tell you when you need to loosen up a bit. You'd never have any fun." Wiggling her eyebrows suggestively, she teased, "Unless, of course, if you were with _Cha~~ad_."

In the reflection of the mirror, Orihime watched her friend's cheeks turn dark, dusty pink. It stretched across her small, angular nose and into her dark, spiky hair, which had grown out over the years. Orihime believed that the deeply tanned member of the guard had something to do with the length of her friend's hair, as once many years before, Tatsuki had complained about how it looked when it was long.

However, Tatsuki's hair, wild and untamable as it was, was much more feminine and even _cute _when it was long. Furthermore, despite his large and intimidating frame, her "sweet baboon," as Orihime had taken to calling him in Tatsuki's presence, had an obvious and well-known love of cute things.

Plus, the oblivious princess had once turned a corner and found them snogging passionately in the shadows, his large hand fully tangled in her dark hair. Of course, Orihime had discreetly made her exit, but not before storing that bit of information away for later teasing bouts in the middle of the night when she would awake abruptly and need someone to talk to.

As Tatsuki pinned up her friend's hair in a sophisticated, yet messy bun, the princess stared at her hands. Her maid went to get the dress they had picked out for the day – a beautiful, golden-yellow one the color of the sun matched with a pair of blue flower hairpins the color of the sky – and the buxom, bodacious young lady watched her delicate fingers, thinking only of her birthday celebration.

After dressing, Orihime skipped gaily down the hallways and stairways into the dining hall. There, after greeting each of her adoptive parents with a kiss to the cheek, despite her dad's itchy, scruffy jaw, she sat down across from her mother and began to consume the morning repast eagerly. By the time the queen and princess finished, the mountain of dishes reached nearly a meter up from the surface of the table. Sated, the two leaned back in their chairs and sighed.

Cracking an eye open, Yoruichi asked, "Are you ready for today?"

"Yes!" Orihime burst, jumping up from her seat. Bouncing gleefully, she exclaimed, "I've been ready for days and _weeks_! I'm so excited, I might explode!"

"But if you did, we wouldn't have anyone to put you back together," her adoptive father teased, smirking.

She giggled and shrugged despite her internal wonderment. Despite all the time that had passed, she had never met someone with powers like hers. She accepted that she was unique – she liked it that way, even. However, even though she could do things others could do with Karakuran magic – draw water from the earth, cast lights into the air, create barriers, and other simple spells mostly involving horticulture – no one could do what she could do. No one else could restore anything – plants, animals, people – from the brink of death.

Sora's voice echoed in her head. His gentle voice told her that she had a wonderful gift that no one could ever take away. Immediately afterward, he had ordered her to flee to save the life he had sacrificed his own to protect.

"Well, if you think you have enough energy," the sandy-blond man resumed as he stood to his feet, "we can get going."

Barely able to contain her excitement, Orihime surged forward, her long yellow gown flowing behind her. Her parents followed locked arm in arm, smiling fondly at each other. Even at eighteen years of age, she was still that little eight-year-old girl they had taken off the streets, but taller and with a significantly more developed bust.

In the foyer of the castle, the royal three were greeted by the newest members of their family, as well as Tatsuki and several guards, including Chad. Picking up her younger sister and setting her on her shapely hip, Orihime watched giddily as the front doors opened. Before anyone else, she rushed forward and into the bright sunlight.

The procession made their way out of the castle court and into the massive town square right outside the castle's gates. While it was always busy, that day it burst with people from all over Karakura. Suddenly tentative, the autumn-eyed princess glanced around and paled. "There are so many of them," she whispered to herself.

Thousands and thousands of people had gathered for one reason – to be healed. Everywhere her wide eyes looked, she saw broken, sick, and wounded. Her heart beat heavily and rose into her throat as all the pain flooded into her gaze. The man with the crushed fingers; the pale, sweating child with a small dribble of blood in the corner of her mouth; the trembling old woman holding a hand to her gut; the young man with a scabbed, oozing eye; broken legs; deformed skulls; and all other kinds of hurts suddenly overwhelmed her. Before she could catch her emotions, a wave empathy slammed into her, and several tears fell down her rosy cheeks.

"Um... Big sister," Ururu peeped in her arms, "it's going to be all right. They're all going to be all right."

Meeting the eyes of a girl no older than her with old bruises and scars on her neck and arms, Orihime nodded resolutely. "Yeah. They will be."

With that, she headed toward the center of the city square. There, the royal cook had set up a kitchen large enough to feed everyone who had come which encircled a raised platform. The rest of her family had already taken their seats, and the guards had dispersed simply as precautionary measures.

As soon as she set down her adopted sister, the amber-haired woman looked her father in the eyes with her own teary orbs. Determined, she stated, "I know it takes up more energy than I usually spend in a year, but if this works like you think it will, Father, I will do this every year on my birthday for the rest of my life, if not more often than that."

For a moment, his grey gaze looked concerned, but it eased after a moment. Chucking, he remarked, "I knew you would say that once you saw them."

"You can tell me not to, Papa," Orihime whispered, careful not to let anyone beyond the platform hear her sudden and open defiance, "but I'll do it anyway."

Steadily, Kisuke grinned. Flipping open his fan and leaping to his feet, he acquiesced, "All righty, then." Without further ado, he shot a large, red, sparkling ball into the sky which exploded with a whistle and caught everyone's attention. "Excu~use me, everyone!" he sang. "Today, on my darling daughter's eighteenth birthday, she wanted to give a gift instead of receive. As such, we are glad to announce that Hime's Super-Spectacular-Wonderful Birthday Gift is about to begin!"

The voluptuous girl blushed, smoothed down her dress, and closed her eyes. Focusing, she felt the gold warmth thrumming through her veins out to the tips of her fingers. She pictured their faces – pained, but so hopeful – and spread her arms as if basking in the sunlight. Beginning directly above her, a wide, glowing, golden dome spread from the apex to every corner of the city square.

Setting her hand on her lower back to support her, Yoruichi asked, "Are you doing all right?"

After a moment, Orihime opened her eyes and grinned. "I can sense all of them, just like I can with you and Papa when we play with our magic; all their hope and joy and everything," she answered, feeling their emotions flowing through her and passing out again into the dome. Looking out at the thousands of people gathered, she watched their unhurt friends laugh and hug as wounds began close and sicknesses began to depart. "All the pain is leaving slowly," she creaked, tears falling from her autumn eyes. "They're all getting better. They're all going to live."

In response to her renewed resolve, the glistening golden dome brightened. She sensed curious passersby enter the dome as well, but she did not reject their entrance. If she could, she would have healed the world, but her power was stretched thin as it was.

The time passed on, the princess never once faltering. Every time the glow of the dome would begin to fade, Orihime looked out into the crowd, saw someone with a previously broken leg leap to their feet or a mother hug their child or something, and her strength was renewed.

Just as the last of the pain had finally subsided, her dome shattered. Trillions of glittering, magical shards floated downward, all tinkling like tiny, musical bells.

Standing, Kisuke praised, "Wonderful work, Ori-!"

"That wasn't supposed to happen." Panicked, the princess dropped her trembling fingers to her sides and rasped, "Someone collapsed it from the outside." She clutched at her chest as she searched wildly, searching all the corners of the square for anyone who could possibly have broken her dome.

A shadow passed over the city, completely blocking out the sun.

Her autumn eyes lifted just as the obsidian beast began its descent. With a crash, it landed, avoiding all the gathered, but already scattering people. The dust and shards of stone from its landing rose into the air only to crash back down as the mighty, winged creature released a roar that forced most people to their knees with the sheer physical force of it, as well as the noise.

Orihime, however, remained standing both in awe and terror. The ancient dragon was massive, so much so that it's forefoot alone was twice as large as herself. His powerful, scaly tail slithered back and forth slowly like that of a cat, but he did not use it to swipe aside any of the comparably puny humans. His dark, muscular body stretched over nearly a quarter of the square, eclipsing everyone still stunned beneath him. His singular jade eye turned to her, and she felt herself frozen under his inspection. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

As she stepped forward, meaning to speak to the clearly intelligent creature, two forms appeared on his back. One, a massive, swarthy man, practically tumbled off the beast's side and landed with a bang. Immediately, he grabbed the man closest to him and slammed his skull against his own.

The unexpected victim fell, his blood dripping from his forehead as he moaned.

As a shocked chorus of screams arose, the second man, much smaller and paler than the first with black, tousled hair, vaulted gracefully off the dragon's shoulder. Drawing his white sword that shone like gold in the light of the sun, he, too, attacked the first person nearest to him, severing their arm from their torso without hesitation.

The princess gaped as the guards rushed into battle and her family attempted to pull her from her spot. Immovable, she watched in terror as her work began to come undone, leaving people who had been so full of joy only a minute previously squirming and crying in agony on the ground. She felt her sister clutching her sleeve and her younger brother pulling on her hand, but she couldn't move. Her mother begged her to flee to the palace with them, but she remained in her place. Even Tatsuki, in her determined, panicked tone, could not reach through the ocean of staggering horror that the amber-haired belle's mind currently drowned within.

The soldiers of the Royal Guard fell one after the other. In the span of a few moments, even Chad was beaten down. His right arm was split vertically, and the broken bone jutted out of the bloody muscle by the fist and sword of the first attacker.

Following the gaze of her princess, Tatsuki's dark, rich chocolate eyes widened. Completely, she forgot her mistress as she began to run toward her beloved even as he fell. She ignored the pushing crowds and the burly invader as she strived to reach him, only to be struck by the back of the maniacally grinning man's hand. After flying several feet, she collapsed and rolled to rest limply beside her agonized and delirious inamorato.

Snapped out of her stupor, Orihime cried, "Tats! Chad!" She pulled away from her family, lifted her skirt, and ran after her friend. "Sōten Kisshun!" she called, surrounding the pair in light despite the distance.

As they began to heal and the giant continued his rampage, she fixed her autumn gaze on the other invader. He was unlike his comrade – his attacks were calculated and careful, always reaching their mark yet never leaving a corpse in their wake. It seemed he was trying specifically not to kill people. She didn't know why, but it gave her some hope.

It was insane, she knew, to run toward danger, but she had to stop them. The pale one seemed to be the one in authority, so if she could convince him to cease or, if necessary, incapacitate him, then people would stop being hurt. Her feet carried her faster than she had ever run before, maneuvering with unusual grace around the fallen bodies.

At last, Orihime reached him. To his surprise as well as her own, she skidded to a stop and grabbed his right arm, halting his sword and his movement. "Stop!" She hadn't realized she was crying until she spoke and heard the prominent tremor in her voice and tasted the bitter, salty tears that had settled in the corners of her lips. "I don't know why you're doing this," she pleaded, "but please stop! Just stop hurting everyone!"

The raven-haired man turned his head to eye her puffy eyes, red cheeks, and pleading yet determined expression. Shock joined her resolve as she inspected his face, and he felt her tremble, but her grip on him did not weaken. Instead, it tightened even though he could feel her body, the front of which was unconsciously pressed against his side, shaking violently.

It was the man from her painting. Every detail was perfect; the angles of his cheeks and jaw, the way his dark hair shaded his intense but guarded emerald eyes, the hollow of his throat and the depth of his collarbones that she could barely make out in the _v_ his partially unfastened, long-sleeved, white and black uniform. The only difference was the blood on his skin and clothing. The warrior before her was the exact copy of Ezmado Cifer, but that couldn't be possible. Ezmado Cifer had been dead for centuries, and this man appeared to be no more than a year or two older than herself.

Perhaps he was his descendant? If Ezmado had escaped, then maybe...?

Pushing the thoughts from her head, the princess repeated adamantly, "Stop hurting them."

Slowly, he nodded, and when he spoke, the deep, quiet avalanche of his voice crashed over her. "As you wish," he acquiesced. Her eyes widened more, as if that was possible, when he pulled away, sheathed his sword, and called, "Yammy! That's enough!"

"Aaaw, Ulquiorraaaa~!" the massive man whined, lumbering toward the pair. "I was just starting to have fun! These people are so boring!" As he stomped into their presence, he chuckled and teased, "What, you get soft just 'cause some chick pushes her breasts into your face-?"

The raven-haired man turned and thrust his fist into the hulking male's gut. Coughing, Yammy doubled over and was immediately greeted by Ulquiorra's knee to the bridge of his nose. With a groan and a hack, he fell to his knees. In that moment, the pale fighter kicked him in the side of the head, efficiently knocking out the man whom dozens of soldiers had been unable to take down.

"What the hell are you doing?!" the orange-haired captain, who had arrived at the scene a moment late, questioned. Charging toward the emerald-eyed invader, he accused, "You come in here, kill dozens of our people, and then turn on your own comrade?!"

Icily, Ulquiorra retorted, "Would you rather I had let him continue rampaging? Because that is what he would have done otherwise. Also," he added, "no one has died yet. Many are seriously injured, yes, but judging by your princess' abilities, the injuries are treatable, yes?" he inquired, turning to the princess.

The blushing, amber-haired girl had been too mortified by Yammy's comment to notice anything until she was addressed. Blinking, she stared at the two men for one moment before answering, "Yes! Yes, of course, I can heal them!"

"Then I suggest you do so, Your Highness, before some of Yammy's victims pass on," the emerald-eyed newcomer instructed.

Unbothered by his bluntness, Orihime immediately cast another healing dome into the sky. Even as Ichigo seethed, Ulquiorra watched her and the sudden splashes of pain and joy that flickered across her countenance. The blood smeared on his cheek and fingers and splattered on his clothing vanished. Intrigued, he eyed some of the people he had mutilated without hesitation. Their severed limbs turned into dust, and brand new ones grew from the bloodied stumps, the muscle sewing itself together and skin crawling over the new flesh. Cuts and bruises and broken bones all healed as if they had never happened. Even the ground Murciélago had crushed reformed beneath his claws.

This was no simple healing power as Lord Aizen had been told. How had the woman come to possess such a remarkable ability?

_Ulquiorra_, began Murciélago, who, as no one had dared to attack him, had not moved from where he had landed. Analyzing the situation as well, he stated, _The girl inherently has massive amounts of magical energy. I have never encountered single human with so much potential._

Ulquiorra did not reply, but he could not help but agree. He knew Karakuran magic was focused on creation, not destruction like the magic of Hueco Mundo, but her abilities were beyond either of those realms.

It was as if she could force time itself to bow to her will.

When the light of the dome faded, revealing clear, blue sky, the princess wavered. Out of instinct, Ulquiorra stepped forward to offer her support.

The flash of a sword stopped him in his tracks. He leaned back, avoiding the strike that would have decapitated him and escaping only with a rather deep cut on his cheek. Turning to the furious, flame-haired captain of the guard, he stared at him without even surprise or anger in his own gaze.

"Do not touch her!" Ichigo ordered even as Ulquiorra's blood dripped off the tip of his blade. "If you even try to touch our princess again, I swear, I will kill you!"

Without even a moment's contemplation, Ulquiorra decided that this man annoyed him, if only a bit. As such, he dared, "Feel free to try."

Ichigo immediately charged forward while Ulquiorra drew his sword again. Before they could strike at one another, a triangular, golden shield blocked their paths and threw them both back a few meters. Ungracefully, the captain of the guard stumbled backward and barely caught his footing. On the other hand, Ulquiorra used the force to flip midair and land lightly on his feet. Both men looked at the weary princess, one in mild curiosity and the other in indignant questioning.

"I said," she whispered in her soft but still-determined voice, "no more fighting. No more hurting."

"But Orihime-!"

"Captain Kurosaki," Orihime addressed. Her autumn eyes nearly overflowed with tears despite her clear efforts to conceal it. "Please," she urged weakly, "no more hurting."

The two glanced at one another and sheathed their swords. As soon as they did, the autumn-eyed dame swooned and collapsed. Even as Ichigo ran toward her, Ulquiorra assured, "She is not dead. She has simply expended too much of energy. She will be fine after a few hours of rest."

"Shut up, would you?!" the hot-tempered man demanded as he picked her up cautiously. Under his breath, he grunted, "I had no idea she was this heavy."

"If she is a burden to you, you are weaker than you look," the emerald-eyed male jibed coldly.

"I told you to shut up! Or are you going to carry her back to the castle?!" Ichigo demanded.

"I would," Ulquiorra replied as he turned toward his massive companion, "but I have to relocate Yammy. If he is here when he awakes, the destruction would be incredible."

"You're not going anywhere!" Ichigo contradicted. Despite the exhausted princess in his arms, he stepped forward in challenge and declared, "You and your friend are coming to the palace to be judged and punished!"

Snorting, the pale man responded, "He is not my friend, and I think not, Captain. When your king hears what I have to say, I think he will have a very different view on his next course of action." With seemingly no trouble at all, he hoisted the hulking man onto his back and headed toward the waiting dragon. "I will return as soon as I bring this fool back."

"Back?!" the brown-eyed man growled. "Back where?!"

"That is none of your concern," Ulquiorra answered vaguely.

Avoiding the remaining, mostly unconscious civilians, Murciélago flattened himself and allowed his human and the giant to settle between his spines. As the pale soldier readied himself, he called, "Tell your king to keep this event in mind as he prepares himself for my arrival. I shall be back this evening."

"Is that a threat?!" Ichigo questioned.

"No," Ulquiorra said, raising a black eyebrow at the captain's persistent hostility. "It is a courtesy."

With that, the black dragon spread his massive, mighty wings. Pushing off with his powerful hind legs, he darkened the bright, blue sky.

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><p><strong>They finally met! YES!<strong>

**The next chapter is coming soon! :D**

**Love, Amaranth**


	11. After the Fall

**Thanks to Cerice Belle, Malice Cross, Tessive, Vengeful Book Worm, and Omega Gogeta for reviewing!**

**I REWROTE THIS FOUR TIMES. **

**I still don't like the ending - it's missing something, but I don't know what. ****If anyone has a suggestion, I'd be glad to hear it! :D**

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><p>"Orihime. It's time to wake up."<p>

Her autumn eyes fluttered open. Her father loomed above her, and the ceiling of her room above that, his grey eyes full of concern. She smiled at him weakly.

Stroking her cheek, Kisuke assured, "Hime. It's all right. You're home; you're safe."

Suddenly, the events leading up to her bout of unconsciousness slammed into her. While tears gathered in her eyes, the amber-haired princess whimpered, "Is everyone all right? Nobody died? Please, tell me nobody died, Papa! I-I tried so h-hard," she sobbed. Sniffling and choking on her own fear, she cried, her tears dripping down her cheeks and onto her father's lap where her head rested.

Grinning, the sandy-blond king wiped away her tears. "Everyone lived, Orihime. Everybody we found – they were only unconscious after the shock to their systems. You did well," he promised. Leaning down, he kissed her forehead and affirmed, "I am so, so proud of you, my little princess. You have exceeded every hope I have ever had."

Still weeping, Orihime managed a tiny smile in return. Trembling, she cried. After a time, she found it necessary to sit up to avoid choking on her own wheezing breaths. Her father helped her up and held her in his lap just as he had when she was eight years old and lamenting the death of her brother. She bawled like she had then, and she didn't even know why. No one was hurt, and everyone she loved was safe. She should have been rejoicing, but instead she cried more than she had in years.

As soon as she had calmed down, Kisuke warned quietly, "I know this may not be the best time to tell you, but he's coming back; that boy with the dragon."

To his surprise, she nodded, composed. "When?" she inquired.

"Soon," the king replied. He brushed back her messy hair and looked into her fearless eyes with confusion in his own. "Are you all right, Orihime?"

The young woman nodded again. Smoothing her skirt over her thighs, she peeped hesitantly, "What are you going to do when he gets here?"

"Ask him what on earth he thinks he's doing attacking my people like that," Kisuke answered. His eyebrows furrowed, and all laughter vanished from his face. "Everyone could have died had that dragon attacked."

"But he didn't," Orihime pointed out. Biting the inside of her cheek, she added, "Ulquiorra – the man with the emerald eyes – didn't kill anyone, either. I... I don't think he was trying to. I don't know what was going on with that Yammy guy – I think he was just crazy!"

She looked at her father to find him staring at her in shock. She could practically see the gears in his head working as he connected facts and came to conclusions just like he always did.

"Ulquiorra," he spoke finally, his voice deep and thick, "otherwise known as the Dragon of Las Noches, although I see now that the title is not solely his own. Why would Aizen send _him_?"

With an oblivious laugh, the autumn-eyed princess wondered, "What's wrong with him? My question would be why the king of Hueco Mundo sent _anyone_ to attack us on my birthday!"

Humorlessly, Kisuke stated, "The Dragon of Las Noches is the fourth most powerful of the Hueco Mundan generals, otherwise known as the Espada, and he is rumored also to be Lord Sōsuke Aizen's personal assassin."

At that, Orihime paled. "Assassin? Why would he need an assassin?"

"Political enemies, people who generally pissed him off and he wants to kill quietly, entire towns where rebellion has cropped up – anything. From what I've heard," the sandy-blond man explained solemnly, "the Dragon has even been known to execute prisoners publicly for defying Lord Aizen."

Not really sure she wanted to know, the princess ventured, "Why is that any worse than assassinating people, Papa?"

"Mundan execution is rather... brutal," Kisuke divulged uncomfortably. He didn't want to give her nightmares, but the descriptions of capital punishment he had been told of were absolutely horrific compared to that of Karakura and Soul Society. "One might even say savage or grotesque."

Thinking back to the reasonable, calm man she had met earlier that day, she shook her head. "I can't believe that. He didn't seem like he would..."

"And yet he cut down forty people in the span of ten minutes," the king pointed out clearly.

Orihime quieted, blushing a bit. She didn't understand how somebody could kill so easily when all she had ever wanted to do was give life. She wasn't a killer and she never could be. Even though she had been faced with the prospect of her friends' deaths that day, it hadn't occurred to her to attack them.

Was that man, even with his phlegmatic emerald eyes and swift, emotionless swipes of his sword, truly a heartless murderer? If he was, wouldn't he have killed her for trying to stop him?

Sensing her thoughts, Kisuke assured, "It's good that you don't understand. You don't need to. I hope you never do." Standing, he pulled her with him and urged, "Your mother is anxious to see you, and so are Tatsuki and Chad – oh, and that Uryu fellow! He was very helpful coordinating after the attack."

At the mention of her friends, the princess let go of her father and ran out into the hallway. To her surprise, she rammed directly into the arms of her mother. The warmth of her skin, the softness of her chest, and the pleasant, mild, musky yet floral smell that she carried with her constantly overflowed her and sent her into another fit of bawling. Orihime cried in her adoptive mother's arms, her trembling quelled by her calm, soothing voice.

Finally, she was pried off by Tatsuki, who, for the first time, had tearstained cheeks and was still on the verge of crying. Grinning, the spiky-haired woman pulled her best friend close in a short, but meaningful embrace.

Chad was next, and he simply smiled and offered quiet thanks. In response, she smiled and nodded.

Uryu, a thin, young member of the Royal Guard with blue-black hair and glasses, followed. With a relaxed smile, he offered, "I'm glad you're well, Princess."

"Thank you, Uryu," Orihime returned. Grinning, she added sincerely, "Thank you for taking care of everyone."

The bespectacled man nodded and replied, "I'm glad to do whatever I can. It is due to your skill that no one was hurt."

The princess blushed, smiled and giggled, not knowing how to respond otherwise.

Thankfully, the awkward moment was interrupted by a child's wail. Jinta and Ururu barreled into their older sister, both sobbing uncontrollably. The twelve and nine year olds clung to her, babbling about how worried they had been and how horrible it had been to leave her with the dragon and the attackers. Kneeling down and holding them close, she promised them that everything was okay; that there was nothing to be afraid of anymore.

She said it for them even though she barely believed it herself.

Just as she had finished greeting her siblings, a sentry rushed up the hallway and exclaimed, "They're coming! The signal from the wall just arrived!"

Clapping her hands, Yoruichi announced, "All right! Places, everyone!"

For the next two minutes, the palace was in a tizzy. Guards lined the stairway, and Kisuke and Yoruichi stood hand in hand in the light of the sun as it began to set, their daughter behind them with her maid by her side. Ichigo, too, stood at the top of the stairs, his arms crossed grumpily and his sword at his side.

With a mighty rush of wind, the Dragon of Las Noches descended from the glorious blue, yellow, and vibrant orange sky. A few of the guards trembled at the beast's appearance, but a sharp, confident glare from their captain stilled their fear. From the obsidian reptile's back, Ulquiorra descended, taking the ten-meter leap without hesitation. When he turned to face the waiting reception, everyone easily noted that he did not have his sword with him.

"That jerk!" Tatsuki hissed. Her eyes sparked as she ridiculed, "He has the nerve to show up here without a sword as if to say, 'You can't hurt me!' Jerk!"

"I don't think he's trying to be a jerk, Tats," Orihime replied objectively. Staring at the newcomer, she whispered, "I think it's a gesture of nonaggression."

Once the pale man reached the foot of the steps, he bowed formally at his waist. "Your Majesties," he addressed in that deep, smooth voice that carried through the courtyard, "I am Ulquiorra Ezmado Cifer, fourth general of Lord Sōsuke Aizen. I thank you for meeting with me." He rose. The orange of the sun lit his face, making the wound he had received from the captain of the guard seem bloody and inflamed despite the fact that it had closed and was already scabbing over.

"You gave us very little choice, General," Yoruichi replied sharply without even trying to hide her anger.

"That I did not, Your Majesty," Ulquiorra acknowledged.

"Then what was the purpose of your sudden attack, Mundan?" the queen demanded. Harshly, she challenged, "If Aizen has sent you to subjugate Karakura in fear, you will fail miserably."

Undeterred and unfazed by the woman's provocation, the emerald-eyed soldier declared, "I am not here for war, Your Majesty. I am here for peace."

Chuckling, Kisuke interjected, "My goodness! If you're here for peace, Mister General, you have an odd way of going about it."

Ulquiorra stuffed his hands into his pockets and gazed unwaveringly at the royal pair. For a long moment, he was silent, but when he spoke, the shock in the courtyard was tangible.

"Hueco Mundo has, as of yesterday, declared war on Soul Society. My visit earlier was merely a small example of the alternative should you reject the proposal I have."

Stunned, Orihime suddenly pressed, "Hueco Mundo is at war with Soul Society? Why? For what reason?"

"The reasons are not important," the pale young man replied briskly, taking her aback. "Suffice it to say that the Soulans have gravely insulted our king, and thus, we are to war with them."

"Then what is your proposal?" Kisuke questioned. His humor had once again vanished, leaving only the serious, analytical side of the dynamic ruler. After a short glance at his wife, he stated for the both of them, "We will not join you in your war against the Soulans."

"I am not asking you to, Your Majesty." Again, he dipped his head respectfully, his raven hair falling over his forehead and brushing lightly against his angular nose. "My proposal is this; you will not engage in the war, neither for Soul Society nor against them. You will, however, cease trade and communication with them for the time being, and you will allow the armies of Hueco Mundo to cross through your land unencumbered."

Before the royal pair could protest, he added, "However, I am instructed to give you my word and the word of Lord Aizen that the generals will be given strict orders not to interfere with the everyday life of the Karakurans. We will pilfer nothing, harm no one, pay and trade for supplies and lodging, and not involve you in our war. Our request is that you treat us as a passing caravan, not an armed force."

"Allowing you to pass through our land would greatly increase your likelihood of success, no?" Yoruichi deduced. "That way, you are not limited to attacking and transporting troops by sea."

"So you see why my proposal was so vital to my master."

"And if we refuse?" Kisuke tested, raising a sandy-blond eyebrow.

At that, Ulquiorra's emerald eyes darkened and his thick eyebrows furrowed. His entire countenance, once one of serene diplomacy, changed to one of menacing shadow and danger. With a nod of his head, he gestured to the dragon behind him and answered, "Then you see why my master sent us. The forces protecting your palace are meager in comparison to the might of Murciélago, the last dragon of Cloroxia, and myself."

Orihime tensed, her autumn eyes widening, and beside her, Tatsuki growled.

Fuming, Ichigo stepped forward and snapped, "Now you show your true colors, snake! You can't pass that off as a 'courtesy,' can you?!"

The lithe male ignored the captain of the guard completely. "I personally believe the proposal is very reasonable," he insisted. "I see no reason you should refuse unless you intend to join Soul Society against us, which," he emphasized rather ominously, "I assure you, would be a very foolish mistake, indeed."

The queen and king paused, uncertain. After several moments of tense silence, the grey-eyed patriarch determined, "We must have time to consider your proposition, General-"

"I cannot give you time, Your Majesty," Ulquiorra interrupted. Though the melodic monotone of his voice never once changed, his aura had switched to one of urgency. "At this moment, Lord Aizen's first general, Coyote Starrk, is waiting just outside your borders with the entire force under his command. One way or another, they will continue their journey the day after tomorrow at dawn. Either you agree to my proposal, and I can swear to you that they will respect our agreement, or they will enter your land anyways, killing anyone who opposes them and conquering your kingdom along the way.

"I am giving you a choice," he continued, his mood darkening again. "You can accept and ensure the safety of yourselves and your people, or you can refuse and be the first to die."

Glancing at each other, the rulers of Karakura paused. Between their entwined hands, an almost unnoticeable mix of white and red light played as the two bared their thoughts and souls to one another. Orihime saw it and paled; they only had did that when they were both very, very worried. Finally, Kisuke inquired, "How long would it take for your to bring a message to your people?"

"Four hours," Ulquiorra replied.

"Then give us until midnight," Yoruichi joined, speaking her husband's thoughts as much as her own. "We will give you our answer then."

Having expected them to say something of the like, the pale man nodded slowly and agreed, "Very well. I can wait until the high moon. Nothing more." Before they could return to their conferring, however, Ulquiorra proceeded, "There is one more element I must cover before I can leave you deliberate."

"Which is what, General?" the king nearly sighed, concealing his worried weariness. His daughter saw it, and it made her nervous.

Ulquiorra surveyed the guards and a few sparse members of the court who had gathered, and finally, his gaze landed on the princess.

This time, the strange fire of his gaze sent a fearful shiver through her. His emerald eyes dug into her, delving into her soul and inspecting her as if she was the most fascinating thing in the universe; as if he had to understand her completely in that single moment.

Finally, the intensity eased, and he explained, "We will require an assurance that you will not betray our contract. After considering the options, my master concluded that solely your eldest daughter would suffice for this role."

Instantly, the courtyard erupted in uproarious refusal.

"Lay your filthy hands on our princess, and I'll kill you!"

"Screw that!"

"If you think we'll agree to that, you're insane!"

"That is completely unacceptable! I will by no means give my daughter to Sōsuke Aizen!" Yoruichi shouted above the protests of everyone else.

Insults and dissent were hurled at the immovable man and echoed in the stunned princess' head. She understood it purely on an intellectual level; if the Mundans had something the Karakurans wanted to protect, they would be less likely to defy the agreement. "Why me, though?" she wondered aloud.

Mistaking her curiosity and confusion for fear, Tatsuki inched next to her friend and promised firmly, "They'll never agree. There's nothing to be scared of."

When the slander directed at him quieted somewhat, Ulquiorra spoke again. "You misunderstand me. Lord Aizen's proposal is not one of marriage," he corrected calmly. "Your princess would be a guest in Las Noches, provided with every luxury we have to offer. Lord Aizen has told me to assure you that I myself would be assigned as her guard, and I swear to you that I would protect her from any possible harm," he pledged without hesitation. With a determined, undoubtable sheen in his emerald eyes, he declared, "And, when I and the men beneath me are sent to the front lines in Soulan territory, I will leave her in your care until my tour of duty is over."

Sensing their skepticism, he continued, "This arrangement would not be permanent. In no way would she be injured or coerced during her visit. As soon as the war ended, she would be returned to you unscathed, I swear."

"And if, while she was in your care, Karakura should break our agreement?" Kisuke questioned cooly.

Emotionlessly, Ulquiorra met the king's gaze and answered, "She would die."

Orihime gasped quietly, feeling her heart sink to her gut and bile rise in her throat at the same time. She had expected dire consequences, but he had said it so heartlessly – as if her life didn't even matter. She was just a bargaining chip, discardable if the deal went south.

Nodding, the king affirmed, "I see. Well," he resumed cheerfully with a sudden grin, "if that's all, then we'll be off to talk, hm? Is there anything-?"

"I require nothing," the cold warrior replied preemptively. "Murciélago and I shall wait here."

Again, as he turned to his dragon, the fading sun lit his expressionless face. Even though it wasn't bleeding, the cut on his cheek looked long, deep, gruesome, and painful even from a distance. Despite her fear and despite the circumstances, the princess felt her heart well with compassion. Even as her parents turned back, she lingered, watching him with concern.

Sensing her stare, Ulquiorra turned back. One of his thick, black eyebrows rose, and he questioned, "Is there something more, Princess?"

The words tumbled from her lips before she could stop them. "May I heal you, please?"

Her request seemed to baffle him, as his eyebrows knit just in the slightest. After a moment, he asked what was clearly on her parents and her best friend's mind as well when he inquired, "Why?"

"Because," the autumn-eyed young woman answered simply, "it looks like it hurts."

Coldly and sharply, the general replied, "The pain is negligible. Do not presume that such an insignificant wound would be too much for me to bear."

Although she tried to let his curt tone roll off her shoulder, it did bother her in the slightest. Exhaling to release the tension he had caused with little success, Orihime countered, "I insinuated nothing of the like, General Cifer. I don't doubt that should you choose to, you could bear it the rest of your life, but I am offering to ease that burden." Her next statement was almost a lie, but she persisted firmly, "Your response makes no difference to me. I will heal you only with your permission."

_What a strange woman,_ Ulquiorra thought, emerald eyes narrowing. She was meek and frightened one moment, and she was brazen and firm in the next. Her duplicity was intriguing, if not perplexing. Warily, he nodded.

Her duplicity transformed to triplicity as the comely belle smiled, her entire face glowing. Disregarding the protesting growl of the captain of the guard, she descended the stairs eagerly. With her hair and dress flowing behind her in her haste, she rushed to his side. He watched in fascination as she blushed the color of the sunset and bit her plump, rosy lip, purposely avoiding his gaze.

Although he expected the golden dome of her power to appear, it did not. Instead, her autumn gaze shifted to his own emerald one, uncertainty filling them as she lifted her sparkling, glowing hand. Surprised, he considered retreat, but her earnest, if not shaky explanation stopped him as she clarified, "If I don't spread out the magic, it'll heal faster."

Nodding, Ulquiorra elaborated, "So to heal the injury with the most expediency, you must touch it."

With a wince, the autumn-eyed princess squeaked, "It may hurt a little when I first touch it."

The look he gave her was one of such incredulity, as if he were asking her if she _really_ thought that would bother him in the least, that she no longer hesitated to bring her palm to his inflamed wound.

Her fingers covered his cheek, and he tensed in only the slightest, but not for pain. Her magic was odd and unfamiliar. Although he had been surrounded by it once, it had not been directly affecting him. Now it was in direct contact with him, he actually felt it; pulsing like a beating heart, pleasantly warm like a mild summer's day, and gentle like a loving, human touch that existed only in his memories. Her hand itself added to the final sensation; her touch was light and careful not to cause him greater pain. The oddest part of the process, he realized, was the sensation of his musculature stitching itself back together; stretching, itching, sometimes twisting, but not at all unpleasant.

This was her soul, he realized – her greatest desire was to heal and to touch the hearts of those around her. As hope and joy sparkled in her eyes, he found himself indignant, and even resentful of that soul; disparaging of that hope of hers.

Soon, she would see just how breakable and worthless that hope was.

To his surprise, she flinched, closed her eyes, and whimpered softly as if his internal, increasingly irritated musings had struck her. Immediately, he suppressed his emotions, shoving them back into their tightly locked closet, yet she did not return to her chipper self. Instead, her expression changed from one of almost physical pain to one of sorrow and pity.

She pitied him. He neither wanted nor needed anyone's pity or anyone's comfort, much less that of a naïve, frivolous woman such as herself.

For a moment, though, he thought he felt something other than the familiar dull ache of rage, despair, and emptiness. He could not identify it, but it was warm, much like the touch of her hand or the lively sensation of her magic.

After only a few minutes, Orihime drew away, holding the hand that had healed him tightly in the other. A nervous smile lifted her lips, yet he did not return the gesture. He did not even speak, his gaze penetrating her instead.

_If he will not say it, I will_. The mental voice of the dragon suddenly rumbled pleasantly in her mind, drawing her awed autumn eyes to meet his serene jade stare. _Thank you._

For a moment, the princess gaped. Her chest heaved, and excitement glowed in her expression as her mouth fell open in astonishment and joy. Turning fully to face him, she gave him her most polished curtsy and addressed, "Gladly, Lord of the Skies. Despite the circumstances, I welcome you to our home. There is no quarrel of men that compares to the honor of meeting a being of such majesty."

Murciélago laughed, the growling, rumbling sound causing the ground to shake beneath her feet, much to her surprise and glee. For all to hear, he remarked, _Your tongue is gold, little princess, but so is your heart. It is a privilege to meet a human such as yourself. _

Blushing, Orihime opened her mouth to speak again, but her father called her name and stopped her. She turned back and saw him gesture for her to join them again. Disappointed but obedient, she dipped her head respectfully to the dragon, glanced uncertainly at the pale, expressionless man, and hurried back to her family.

As soon as they were gone, Murciélago asked, _How does it feel?_

"Normal," Ulquiorra answered shortly.

_And her magic?_

At that, the pale man paused and furrowed his eyebrows. "Strange," he remarked. Settling against the dragon's side, he murmured, "Pleasant."

Murciélago smirked and closed his eye, resting contentedly.

Meanwhile, the royal study was filled with arguing. Yoruichi bickered with Kisuke, Tatsuki with Chad, and Ichigo with everyone. The only one who was not speaking was Orihime, who sat off to the side in a daze.

"You cannot possibly be thinking of sending our daughter to Hueco Mundo!"

"What of the alternative? You would have me knowingly condemn our people to death?"

"What do you mean it's the better choice?" the spiky-haired woman cried. "It's the better choice to abandon her?! She saved your life today, and you don't want to fight for her?!"

"This all could have been avoided if I had been allowed to kill him!" Ichigo interrupted almost accusingly.

"We can't just send her away!" Yoruichi exclaimed, distraught. "Gods know if the Mundans will keep their promise; gods know what Aizen is actually planning!"

"If fighting was an option, don't you think I would chose that? If we fight, we and our people die," the king countered logically but urgently.

"Fighting would have been our only option if Orihime hadn't stopped me!" Ichigo pointed out again. Practically blaming the princess for the situation, he remarked, "I would have killed him, and that would have been the end of that!"

"I won't let my best friend be taken away from me!" Tatsuki snapped.

Exasperated, Chad replied, "I did not say that you should."

"Well, then what is 'maybe it's better to agree' mean?!" she questioned.

"I am not letting my daughter go to that place!"

"I'm telling you – you should have let me stop him!"

"Consider the options-!"

"Not my best friend-!"

"Tatsuki, you are not listening-!"

"I'll go."

Everyone stopped. Stunned, they turned to the pensive but serene young woman in the corner. Glancing up with unwavering, compassionate autumn eyes, Orihime whispered, "I'll go alone – willingly. I'm not scared of Hueco Mundo. If everyone lives, I'll be the happiest person in the world even if I'm far away."

"No!" the orange-haired captain refuted suddenly. Clenching his fists, he urged, "Let me fight him! If I get rid of him, then we can send out our forces and meet the Mundans at the border!"

"And then what?" the princess choked out. Her eyes moistened with tears, partially because of her distress and partially because the oblivious love of her life was so intent on protecting her. "You'll die. The Mundan culture is one of war. Over half their male population is in their military! They outnumber us five to one. If only one general – just _one_ of their Espada – is at the border, even then, our entire forces could be killed!"

"I won't roll over and let them take you!" Ichigo defied. "I'd rather die fighting!"

His words caused her to blush cherry, and tears dripped from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Trembling and scoffing, she inquired weakly, "To what end? Dying _for_ your country and your friends is one thing; dying _with_ them is another."

The hot-tempered man seethed, his breath hissing through his teeth. However, he did not contradict her; he knew she was right.

Orihime turned to her parents. Her autumn eyes still overflowed with hot, stinging, salty tears, but she smiled sweetly nonetheless. "It's okay," she promised. "I'm not scared. I'll be fine. Don't feel bad."

The conflict on her parents' faces was clear enough, but slowly, silent acceptance came over them. Tatsuki seemed less willing, but after blustering a little, she huffed, crossed her arms, and went silent.

With their daughter between them and the captain behind them, the royal couple returned to the courtyard as the moon neared its peak. To Orihime's glee and surprise, the dragon had curled up like a massive cat, the general nowhere to be seen. Sensing their presence, Murciélago snorted to alert his human. Slowly, the dragon unwound himself, revealing the pale man who had been hidden in the massive cavern created by the reptile's body. Raking his fingers through his tousled, raven mane, he looked up at the ruling family impassively and expectantly.

"We accept," Yoruichi stated. Her voice almost broke, but she held strong, her golden eyes gleaming and her head high.

Nodding, Ulquiorra acknowledged, "Excellent. You," he instructed, "have until dawn the day after tomorrow to spread the world throughout your kingdom of our agreement. And," he added, his emerald gaze piercing the amber-haired belle like a barrage of arrows, "you, Princess, have twelve hours before I return for you."

In surprise, Orihime blinked at him. "Twelve hours? For what?"

His eyes narrowed and his eyebrows furrowed only in the slightest. "To say goodbye," he answered simply, "and to gather anything of absolutely necessity." When she continued to look surprised, he insisted, "I do not like to repeat myself, woman. I said you would not be a prisoner, but a guest. You shall be given time to say goodbye for the time being, and you are free to bring whatever you can carry with you to Las Noches."

"It's a long trip to Las Noches," Kisuke contested, "nearly a month's time by horse. Surely, she will need more than what she can carry."

"She would," Ulquiorra confirmed, beginning to seem somewhat impatient with their protests, "but we will not be traveling by horse. Murciélago has consented to carry her to Las Noches in order to reduce the length of our journey. Instead, it will take no more than a day. The distance from here to your border takes us four hours to traverse; the distance to Las Noches is only four times that distance."

Uncertainly, Yoruichi and Kisuke glanced at each other, but Orihime glowed.

She was going to ride a dragon. She was going to soar through the sky at unimaginable speeds and dreamlike heights on the back of a creature as ancient as the land itself.

If it hadn't meant that he would be taking her from her family and everyone she loved, she would have cried in pure bliss.

"If you will pardon me, Your Majesties," Ulquiorra concluded with a bow, "I will depart. Starrk will need to know the outcome of our negotiations immediately."

They gave him no leave to go, but he did not hesitate to hoist himself up onto the dragon's back with practiced grace. Once more, he met the shocked, sorrowful, yet somehow gleeful gaze of the princess and wondered at her joy. _Strange woman_, he thought again, perplexed.

Shaking her from his head, he braced himself and held to the spine in front of him. Murciélago lifted off into the starlit sky and the cold, but free air.

Orihime watched him go, awe in her eyes. Suddenly, as the obsidian dragon's form melted into the dark of night, a thought occurred to her that had rivers of tears falling from her eyes in moments. Shaking and wheezing as all her strength vacated her body, she collapsed and sobbed.

After a minute of panic and questioning, her mother finally embraced her and whispered, "What's wrong, Orihime?"

Her throat tightened, nearly choking her as she croaked mournfully, "I k-know it's silly, but it was m-m-my b-birthday! So many p-people were hurt, and s-so many people were frightened, a-and now I have to leave you tomorrow!"

Yoruichi stiffened and tightened her grip on her daughter. "Kisuke."

"Yes, my lovely wife?"

"If you don't throw a goodbye-birthday party for our princess, I'll hit you."

"Right on it, my love!" Clapping his hands, he turned to Ichigo and ordered, "Captain, assemble the men! Orihime's birthday celebration shall proceed as planned, if not later than expected! Tell that goofy pyromanic lieutenant of yours – Keigo? – to prepare the fireworks!"

He continued on, shouting orders in a strange mix of seriousness and humor as the palace awoke once again.

Yoruichi helped her daughter to her feet and sighed. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "He is not very good at expressing his emotions in times like these. He relies on jokes instead."

Smiling weakly, the princess affirmed, "I know. I know he loves me and he's sad. He's just trying to lighten the mood."

Still holding her little girl close, the olive-skinned queen whispered, "This is a very brave thing you're doing."

"I know."

"If I could exchange myself for you, I would."

"I know."

"I only want you to be safe."

"I know," Orihime nodded, looking up at her mother seriously, "but I want you to warn Soul Society anyways."

Her golden eyes widened as she gasped, "If we do that-!"

"I might die," the princess confirmed quietly, "but only if they find out. I know. I want you to send Ichigo, Uryu, and Chad to warn them that Hueco Mundo is coming by land – Ichigo for his leadership, Uryu for his planning and foresight, and Chad for his strength and support."

"Orihime, no! I won't put your life at risk!"

"My life," Orihime pressed desperately, "or the lives of thousands of Soulans. I may be your daughter, but my life is no more valuable than that of anyone else's. Send them."

Yoruichi's lips thinned, showing that she was conflicted, but she huffed and replied, "I'll talk to Kisuke about it."

"Thank you."

Sighing, the queen resumed, "Well, I suppose we have a party to go to, hm?"

Happily, the autumn-eyed girl nodded and followed her mother back into the palace, promising herself that she would keep her unwavering smile in place for the rest of the night.

* * *

><p><strong>I don't really like the ending, but I'm planning to come back and edit everything when this is done. <strong>

**Love, Amaranth**


	12. Path Less Travelled

**Thanks to Malice Cross, Cerice Belle, northpeach, and Omega Gogeta for reviewing!**

**KISUKE IS SO SASSAY, AND CHAD IS SO HARD TO WRITE BECAUSE I'M A DIALOGUE PERSON AND HE _NEVER SAYS_ _ANYTHING_.**

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><p>The Midnight Celebration, as it would later be called, was the grandest and most glorious party in Karakura's history. Fireworks blew into the air without ceasing for hours, lighting the entire city in sparkles of gold, red, blue, and the occasional pink. Kisuke had spent weeks enchanting the most spectacular of the explosives so that, at one time or another, roaring red dragons flew through the sky, golden ladies danced joyfully among the stars, and pink flowers bloomed and wilted in the span of several seconds. The party spilled out from the castle grounds into the city, and the bright, eternally cheerful music floated magically through every street. Splaying rays of gold and silver light onto the sparse clouds above, the entire palace glowed.<p>

However, none shone brighter than the princess of Karakura. Dressed in blue and gold silk, she floated through the party. She smiled brilliantly, and her autumn eyes glittered happily. For most of the night, she danced. She danced with her little brother, who blushed and protested; she danced with her pale, bespectacled archer friend, who did the same; she danced with her father, who, instead of dancing normally, swept her off her feet and spun her until they both tipped over, laughing until their faces turned red and their lungs ran out of air.

Even while her dearest friends presented her with their unexpected gifts, she danced; her feet never stopped moving, and she never stopped bouncing to the beat of the orchestra. She received a book of fairytales from Uryu, who shared her love of reading.

From Tatsuki, she received a pair of bluish-silver chopsticks for her hair that doubled as weapons due to their needle-pointed ends, which Tatsuki insisted she take with her to Hueco Mundo.

Jinta and Ururu gave her a painting they had worked on themselves of their entire family – Ichigo, Uryu, Tatsuki, Chad, and Tessai included – and insisted tearfully that even if she couldn't take it with her, she had to keep it in her room until her return.

The taciturn, tanned guard gave her a new, brown, plushy bear. When Orihime looked him in surprise, Chad shrugged and explained that Tatsuki had told him that her old stuffed bear's leg had fallen off recently, and thus he had found a new one. It was not simply new, though; it was perfectly identical. The princess thanked him, causing him to quiet more than before in embarrassment, to which Tatsuki laughed and kissed his cheek, which, in turn, only caused his browned cheeks to redden more.

From Ichigo, the princess received a massive bouquet of flowers. Nearly a hundred blooms – irises, roses, lilies, chrysanthemums, hibiscuses, daisies, and more – all flooded her gaze with color and her nose with the sweet, fresh, crisp aroma. The captain blushed, his cheeks clashing with his hair, and admitted that it had been his sisters' idea and that it seemed rather useless considering the circumstances.

Still, Orihime's own blush rivaled his, and she assured him that she treasured his gift no less even though she had little time to enjoy it. Inside, she was mortified and giddy at the same time – the unrequited love of her life had given her flowers. The thought caused her heart to thump violently in her chest.

Finally, her parents' gift was presented. The tiny box was wrapped in gold foil and topped with a bright, red bow. Entranced, Orihime slowly pulled it apart to reveal a tiny, blue velvet box. Bouncing in uncontrollable excitement, she opened it. Two platinum hairpins, adorned with vivid blue hibiscuses the color of the sky on the clearest day, greeted her sparkling eyes. They glinted and gleamed in the magical light that flooded the palace. When Kisuke gently tucked them into her hair to hold back her loose bangs, they contrasted her vibrant amber hair wonderfully.

"I'll never take them off," the buxom belle promised tearfully even though she clung desperately to her smile. "I'll wear them every day for the rest of my life." She hugged the people who had been her world as tightly as she could, and for several minutes, she refused to let go. When she felt a hot wetness on her shoulder, not from her mother, but from her father, she couldn't help but cry silently. Despite her continuing smile, she wept, trembling but safe in their arms.

The sun rose, and the party waned as everyone found themselves exhausted. Even Jinta barely had the energy to protest as Tessai carried the snoozing Ururu like a baby in one burly arm and tossed the loudmouthed little boy over his other shoulder. Orihime, too, was carried to bed by the sandy-blond king as she drifted in and out of consciousness. Her smile stayed in place even though tears had streaked her face from both joy and sorrow.

The patriarch set her in bed and left her to join his wife. Removing his heavy, green and white embroidered haori and kicking off his iconic, high sandals, he flopped into bed beside the queen who had already laid contentedly beneath the sheets. As he did so, the mattress bounced and disturbed her. Abruptly, Yoruichi sat up and smacked his shoulder before rolling over onto her side and curling up in a feline fashion.

Kisuke sighed and brushed aside her purplish-brown hair, tucking it around her ear.

In a weary voice, the queen whined, "Kisuke, noooo."

Playfully, the king inquired, "No what?"

"No touchy," Yoruichi moaned.

Without putting any pressure directly on her, he hovered over her and lowered a kiss to the olive skin below her ear.

Louder, she protested, "No touchy!"

"I'm not touching; I'm kissing," he countered, smirking and repeating the action.

Waking steadily, Yoruichi jibed, "Dirty, perverted old man."

"Ah, but only with you, my love," Kisuke added as he pressed gentle, tickling pecks along her jawline.

When she stilled and stopped arguing, he ceased. Withdrawing, he lay beside her and sought out her gaze to find the golden orbs of his strong, solid rock full of tears. She was trying her hardest to contain them, but they were welling up anyways. "Why?" she asked. "Why Orihime? Why her? I know it's selfish, but if they had taken _anyone_, we would've still had no choice. Why _her_?"

"Because," Kisuke explained as he dabbed her eyes with his sleeve, "even if we would have sacrificed for anyone, do you think all of Karakura would willingly allow an army to pass through our land if it had been anyone else? And now," he continued logically, "after she has healed so many people _twice_, they love her even more. If it was just some random person from the city, do you think the outer villages would feel the same way?

"Karakura has always been on better terms with Soul Society than with Hueco Mundo," he reminded. "If we had to choose, we would choose to side with Soul Society. Hueco Mundo has eliminated that danger."

As her inner mama bear reared its head, Yoruichi hissed, "That suave pervert could've picked anyone, but he picked _her_, and you know why as well as I do."

"Yes."

"So why are we still letting her go?"

"Because I trust her to handle herself," Kisuke answered simply. Stroking his wife's cheek and staring sincerely into her eyes, he whispered, "She's stronger than I like to think sometimes. She's not just our helpless little girl anymore. She can stand up for herself. I'll always protect her to the best of my ability, but there will always be some cases where I can't." Regretfully, he confessed, "This is one of those cases. She has chosen to go, and I am going to trust her."

Yoruichi hiccuped and leaned into his warm, comforting touch. "I don't want to. I know I need to, but she's my little girl that I adopted and raised and loved all these years, and I don't want to."

Tenderly, the sandy-blond ruler brushed his lips against his wife's and confirmed, "I know. That's what I'm here for. You're my haven, and I'm your guiding star. Even if you can't manage to trust her, you can trust me."

Still struggling with her conflicting emotions, the queen kissed him back, her lips moulding naturally against his own. When her lips brushed against the rough stubble of his cheek, she laughed and remarked, "You need to shave."

"And ruin this beautiful beard I've been growing?"

Snorting, Yoruichi teased, "Ha! Beard my taut, sassy buttcheeks! You haven't been able to grow a beard your entire life! It's just pointy fuzz."

He smirked and pulled her close, the position strange but comfortable because she was under the covers while he was not. "I do love your buttcheeks," he flirted.

Before he could move his hand, as she knew he would, she snuggled against his chest and huffed, "Oh, shut up and go to sleep, pervert."

Kisuke sighed and rested his chin on top of her head. "All right," he agreed, closing his eyes, "but only for you, my dear."

Hours passed, and when Orihime awoke again, she could tell by the position of the sun that her time grew short. Without calling for Tatsuki, partially because she knew that her best friend was probably laying on top of her sweet baboon and snoring at the moment, she changed. Instead of her glistening gown, she donned a plain, simple, but comfortable and lovely cream dress that swished pleasantly when she walked. Afterwards, she fixed her hair practically, tucking Tatsuki's gift into her mussed bun and clipping her new hairpins to the modest, flat neckline of her dress.

Despite the adequate coverage the dress offered, the autumn-eyed young woman noted that her large bosom remained obvious. She had never found a dress that had subdued it and flattered the rest of her, so she had adapted. Smiling at her mirror, she admired the contrast of the blue pins and the soft, white-yellow color of her dress and the peachy shade of her skin.

Slowly, her smile faded, but she did not cry this time. She would be strong, she resolved; if not for herself, then for everyone else.

After rummaging in her closet, Orihime found a small, drab pack with a single strap which fit diagonally over her shoulder and around her torso. In it, she packed the book Uryu had given her, along with three others full of stories, history, and the arts; her favorite, ivory hairbrush; and she discreetly tucked the teddy bear Chad had given her into the bottom. Last, but not least, she picked a flower from her bouquet – a hibiscus veined with almost every color possible – and after wrapping it in a cloth, she laid it on the top.

Ulquiorra had not said it, but she deduced that as time of was the essence and she could only carry so much, they would provide her with clothing and other necessities for the duration of her stay. However, she decided that she would stop by the kitchen and pack some of her favorite treats before she left. She didn't know what kind of food they had in Hueco Mundo, so she didn't want to go without her dearest pastries for too long.

Though her pack was small and sparse, she felt it was good enough, and she felt glad that she had fit most of her presents into its limited space.

At last, after her stop at the kitchen, the princess arrived in the courtyard. She sat silently on the cobblestone stairs, her pack beside her as she stared at the sun as it approached noonday. She had just closed her eyes when she felt the rush of air and heard the flap of wings.

Even as Murciélago landed, her family and friends joined her on the stairs. He father helped her to her feet as they watched the pale man descend. He held her hand tightly, not wanting to let go.

Ulquiorra's emerald eyes were remorseless when he questioned, "Are you ready to go, Princess?"

Smiling, Orihime returned his gaze fearlessly and nodded. "Yes."

In response, he raised an eyebrow. "Good," he remarked. "Then come with me, woman."

The princess took her first step, and immediately, the scrape of sword against scabbard and the twang of a bowstring pulled tight registered in her ears. Looking side to side, she stood in shock; Ichigo, Chad, and Uryu blocked her way, their weapons drawn.

Immediately, the king inquired, "Captain, what are you doing?"

"We won't let you take her!" Ichigo declared adamantly.

"You do not have a choice, boy," Ulquiorra retorted. He still did not have his sword, but he did not seem frightened at all.

"Ichigo, stand down!" Yoruichi demanded. "Uryu, Chad – you, too!"

"I'm afraid we can't obey that order, Your Majesty," Uryu replied. "If you will not, we will protect her with our lives."

"I am giving you a _direct_ order!" the purple-haired woman insisted, descending the last few steps. "Put down your weapons!"

"You ought to listen to her," the general advised in his usual enigmatic fashion. "I will not be fully responsible for your deaths if you die like fools."

"Says the man without a sword!" Ichigo barked.

Confused, Tatsuki pressed, "Chad, just put away your sword."

The tanned guard did not respond.

"Stand down!"

"No! Not until you promise to protect Orihime!" the orange-haired captain refused. "We will not follow the orders of a ruler who will not protect their own daughter!"

"I'm the one who decided to go, Captain," Orihime added softly, trying to soothe him. "Please, just stop."

"Ichigo, put down your sword," Kisuke spoke finally. Again, his humor was gone. His eyes had hardened, and his mouth was set straight. "If you will not, there will be consequences."

"What," Ichigo jibed, "more of a consequence than watching this bastard fly off with our princess? Yeah, I think not!"

"This is your last chance, Ichigo, Uryu, Chad. If you do not stand down, I will have no choice but to have you removed from the courtyard, the Royal Guard, and the city!" the sandy-blond king warned seriously.

"Chad, don't!" Tatsuki urge.

The three paused for a moment. Ichigo's sword wavered, Chad sighed, and Uryu let his bowstring slacken a bit. The next instant, however, their resolve and their battle stances were back, and Ichigo huffed, "Fine. Do it. We'll just have to kill this guy before you can!"

As one, the three stepped forward, and in response, Ulquiorra raised a single finger.

Uryu released his arrow, Ichigo and Chad raised their swords, and a massive ray of green light exploded from the forefinger of the Espada. Every attack, however, was halted by a bright, golden wall of light that split the courtyard in two. Their weapons glanced off one side, and the explosion of Ulquiorra's Cero spread across the other.

Irate, Ichigo swirled around and snapped, "Orihime, what the hell are you doing?!"

Already weeping, Orihime dropped her head to her chest and whispered, "Why did you have to make this so hard?"

Blinking at her, the hotheaded man suddenly realized what he had done. He floundered for a moment, his fury fading to regret. "Princess…"

Imploringly, she gazed at her three stunned friends and questioned again, "Why did you have to make this so difficult? I was ready to go, and now I still have to go knowing you won't be here when I get back!" she mourned.

Before any of them could offer an explanation for their actions, a horde of soldiers appeared. Guilt-stricken, they dropped their weapons and allowed their former comrades to restrain them. The golden wall lowered, and the princess desperately tried to contain her tears as they were dragged away.

Shocked, Tatsuki glanced between her best friend and her beloved as he was guided out of her sight. "What the... where did that...?" Finding the pale man looking rather intrigued, all her rage was immediately channeled toward him. She pointed at him and accused, "You! This is your fault! You and your stupid king! Well, I hope you're happy! You just tore apart the leadership of Karakura's Royal Guard and made my best friend cry!" Stomping down the stairs, she marched right up to him, and, to everyone's shock, grabbed him by the collar and dragged him down the few inches to her level. "So, General Frickin' Cifer," she threatened resolutely, her sparking chocolate eyes meeting his calm emerald ones, "you have already caused my friend plenty of pain. If she comes back with so much as a scratch or a teeny tiny bruise, I will _personally_ rip off your balls and roast 'em! Am I clear?!"

This was the demure, innocent young princess' best friend? This rude, foul-mouthed woman was the best friend of the amber-haired royalty who was rumored to have the most gentle spirit in the current age of Cloroxia? Ulquiorra wondered at the irony. For a moment, he was reminded of Grimmjow, but he swiftly pushed the blue-haired monkey from his mind.

Nodding, the pale man confirmed, "You are quite translucent."

Content, Tatsuki released him and turned her back to him before charging to her friend and embracing her crushingly. "And you," she practically growled, "don't let anyone push you around. You're a freakin' princess, and they have no right to be jackasses to you."

Managing to laugh, Orihime hugged her friend back and affirmed, "Okay, Tats. I'm so sorry-"

"Shut up," Tatsuki interrupted. She swallowed tightly and lectured, "Now isn't the time for you to be feeling sorry for me. I'll manage, and I swear, I will be waiting here when you get back."

When the two released each other, Orihime went on to hug her little siblings and her parents lingeringly. Meanwhile, Ulquiorra waited patiently, seeming disinterested but nonetheless watching them out of the corner of his eye.

Finally, the princess began to walk toward the massive, black dragon. Focusing on the fact that she was going to _fly _and not her troubled conscience concerning her friends, she regained her cheerful manner, and the spring in her step returned. As she reached the pair, she curtsied to the dragon again and smiled brilliantly. "Thank you," she offered, "for allowing me this honor. I know that even if the old times, it was rare for a dragon to accept a rider other than their human."

_You will be no burden, little princess_, Murciélago acknowledged, his lips lifting to reveal his rows of massive, sharp, sword-like teeth. _I will gladly carry such a treasure._

Blushing, Orihime giggled nervously and glanced at the pale man. He was watching her again. The same intensity remained, but this time it was mellowed by what she assumed was curiosity. After a moment of silence, she opened her mouth, but closed it again. Awkwardly, she inquired, "I... Um... h-how do I get up?"

At that, he raised an eyebrow, and something in his emerald eyes sparkled within the permanent darkness. The only description she could think of was that he looked amused.

The next moment, the thick, scaly, flexible tail of the dragon had wrapped around her legs up to her waist. As she was lifted off the ground, she released a giddy shriek. Her view widened and her head spun as she was lifted the ten meters into the air, and she waved to her parents just before she was released on the dragon's back. To her surprise, it was incredibly wide – he had looked thinner from below. His back spread nearly four meters wide, which by no means included his massive wingspan. Each wing, she had guessed, would span at least ten meters itself once unfurled. For a moment, she stood frozen in awe.

Abruptly, a white hand entered her vision. Ulquiorra had extended his fingers, and when she set her hand in his dazedly, she was surprised by the living warmth of the man who seemed so statue-like at first glance.

Cautious of what the dragon could and could not feel, she followed the pale young man's lead on tiptoe. The scales were smooth and hard beneath her, and she almost worried about slipping, but as she started to peek at the ground below, the general squeezed her fingers gently.

Her gaze turned back to him in surprise, and he explained simply, "It is unwise to look down until you are situated."

Nodding, Orihime continued to navigate toward where the dragon's neck met his back. There was the widest space between his blunt, but pointed ridges, and it was there that Ulquiorra gestured for her to sit. With one hand still in his, she slid down and tucked her skirt beneath her legs. She noted that her legs could stretch out if she so desired, but instead she tucked them under her and bit her lip nervously.

The raven-haired man sat in front of her, his back to her. "When Murciélago takes off," he instructed, "he will not ascend as vertically as usual, but you will have to hold on to me. Once he reaches cruising altitude, you may let go. Do you understand?"

"Yes," the eager yet terrified princess confirmed. Her autumn eyes looked down at her family, and she grinned and waved. "Goodbye, my halcyon days!" she called cheerfully. "I'll see you soon!"

Emotionally, her loved ones waved back and called the last of their endearments.

Orihime still held to her smile as she wrapped her arms around the Espada's middle. Unable to stop herself, she blushed at the warmth of his heart pulsing through his back and into her cheek. Closing her eyes, she sighed, and in the next moment, her stomach was in her throat, her own heart was pounding wildly, and the wind whistled shrilly in her ear. The rhythmic _thwump thwump thwump_ beats of the dragon's mighty wings echoed in her mind. Her axis tilted, and when she opened her eyes and looked up, she was met with a blue sky that seemed to be coming down to greet her. Despite the sadness that had settled deep within her, she laughed and grinned as the mighty beast lifted her into the fresh air and welcoming light of the sun.

Below, her family continued to wave. The ascent was not nearly as swift as it had been before, but soon enough, Murcielago was naught but a black speck on the horizon.

Dropping her hand, the tearful Yoruichi inquired of her husband, "How did you know she would stop them?"

"I told you," Kisuke answered. "I trusted her."

Confused, Tatsuki began, "What are you two talking abou-?" Her confusion increased more as she was interrupted by two burly, familiar arms wrapping around her and a squared jaw resting atop her head. Almost crashing into his chin with her skull, she looked up, her eyes wide. "Chad! What the-wha-wh-what the hell is going on?!" she barked, her surprise turned to rage in an instant.

Before the soft-spoken man could answer her, Ichigo joined the group, his arms crossed, and divulged, "It was an act."

"Although," Uryu added as he adjusted his glasses, "it was unfortunate that we had to grieve the princess in the midst of it."

Infuriated, but happy that her beloved had not actually been banished, Tatsuki snapped, "What do you mean it was an act?! Why? What on earth could you be planning?!"

Chad's deep voice reverberated in her ears and calmed her as he stated, "We're going to Soul Society just like the princess wanted."

With sudden understanding, the spiky-haired woman sighed and deduced, "And because you've been booted out of the Royal Guard, it's less likely that if Hueco Mundo finds out about it, they'll think the king and queen had anything to do with it."

The giant rectangle of a man nodded.

"We leave at sundown, boys!" Ichigo ordered. Despite his internal conflict, he had buried his tumultuous emotions under his natural authority. "Get your stuff, say your goodbyes, and meet at the stables. We're going on an adventure." With that, he turned to go about his own business, and so did everyone else.

Ten minutes later, the amorous young couple were tucked away in Chad's room. Unexpectedly, Tatsuki had found herself trapped between his firm torso and the closed door, but she had no objections as his arms wrapped around her waist and his mouth pressed insistently against her own. As quiet and respectful as he was, he was a man of action, and as he buried his lips in the sensitive crook of her neck, she decided that she didn't mind in the least.

Gripping his broad shoulders and scraping her nails gently over the skin, the chocolate-eyed woman whispered, "How long are you going to be gone?"

He pressed a languid, gentle kiss to her collarbone and sighed, "Too long."

"When will you come back?" she panted, tugging on his hair in a silent plea.

Before returning his lips passionately to her own, he confessed, "When the war is over."

His words broke through the addictive fog of pleasure before she could lose herself. Breaking away, she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and protested, "What?! That could take years!"

Chad exhaled slowly through his nose, knowing that the moment had been ruined. He withdrew and attempted, "Hueco Mundo thinks we're banished; we can't come back until the war is over."

"Then I'll come with you!" she resolved.

Engulfing her hands in his, he refuted, "No, you won't."

Indignant, Tatsuki glared into his warm, brown eyes and challenged, "Go ahead; try to make me stay. Guilt me into staying; argue with me and beg me – it won't work. I can't live on for years, not knowing if you're coming back!"

There was a pause, and when he finally spoke, every drop of anger drained from her blood and was replaced by shock.

"Marry me."

Tatsuki's throat tightened suddenly, her chocolate eyes watered, and she trembled despite the stiff fury that had filled her only a moment before. As she stared into his gaze, she found no irritation or frustration within them. There was anxiety, yes, but adoration and determination overwhelmed it. He was serious.

Smirking and scoffing, the dark-haired woman questioned, "What are you talking about? Where is this coming from?"

"Do you think I would court you without intending to marry you?" Chad inquired, raising an eyebrow beneath his heavy bangs.

"Well, no, but we haven't… I mean, I'd make a horrible wife," she joked. Avoiding his gaze, she remarked half-genuinely, "I'm already cranky and bossy; imagine what living with me would be like."

"Tatsuki," the large male repeated, "marry me."

"And I'd be a horrible mother, too!" Tatsuki snorted, still looking at anything but his eyes.

"No, you wouldn't."

"You've thought about that, too, huh?" Shaking her head, she jested, "I mean, honestly, there must be some girl that's nicer and sweeter and less of a bossy loudmouth that wants to marry you."

"There may be, but they aren't _you_." Releasing her hands, Chad cradled her jaw and guided her to face him. Even though she was still looking past him, he kissed her and felt her tense and shiver simultaneously. Against her lips, he stated once more, "Tatsuki. Marry me. As soon as this is all over, _marry me_."

Tatsuki closed her eyes and breathed, "Does this mean I can't go with you?"

"It means I'll come back to you, no matter what," he responded.

His deep, gentle voice reverberated in her chest, sinking in and calming the ocean of fire that raged within her. Her eyes remained shut tightly, but she didn't need to see him to feel his heart beating rapidly in time with her own. Even as her hands fisted tightly and she battled with her turbulent emotions, he patiently peppered her lips with pecks, saying nothing but expressing everything.

"All right!" she snapped finally. "Yes!" Having said it, the tightness in her chest lifted. Unexpectedly even to herself, she laughed and sighed, "Yes." Her chocolate eyes sprang open, confidence and joy filling them. "Yes."

In response, Chad kissed her fully, the emotions he was unable to put into words poured into his actions.

When they pulled apart for a breath, she threatened, "I swear, if you don't bring me a present from Soul Society, I'll smack you."

Teasing her subtly, he inquired, "How about a marriage token? Maybe an earring that went from here," he suggested as he nipped her upper ear, "to here," he added as he pressed a kiss to her earlobe.

Tatsuki blushed half in anger and half in embarrassment, but she didn't stop him from turning her knees to pudding and her brain to mush in her instinctive desire to treasure every last moment she had with him. "I'd have to get my ear pierced," she whispered.

"Yeah."

"What about a ring?"

"And give you a pointy rock to permanently wear on your finger? I think not."

"A necklace?"

"It'd get in your way."

"A bracelet?"

"No. An earring," Chad insisted, brushing his lips softly over hers. "With a gold setting and chain and dark amethyst to match the light in your eyes."

"You've thought about this a bit, I see."

"Of course."

"But what about a-?"

She was silenced by his lips vigorously moulding with her own as he memorized the sounds she emitted, the scent of her hair, and the sensation of his betrothed as she was contained contentedly in his arms.

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><p><strong>Lots of non-UlquiHime love in that one! This won't end following the rest of Orihime's friends and family; it's just smoothing out the edges so we can all focus on ULQUIHIME LOOOOVE for a while.<strong>

**I seriously love ChadTsuki. She's all angry and violent and overprotective woman, and he's just so chill. They compliment and contrast each other so great.**

**Love, Amaranth**


	13. Great Spirits

**Thanks to Cerice Belle, northpeach, Vengeful Bookworm, and Malice Cross for reviewing!**

**Lilynette and Starrk are GREAT.**

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><p>"Princess, you may release me now."<p>

Blinking, Orihime realized that she had not removed her arms from around the pale man's middle. With a squeak and a blush, she jerked back and folded her hands in her lap. Ulquiorra glanced back at her, an eyebrow raised in curiosity, but he said nothing.

Her embarrassment was soon forgotten, however, as she looked downwards at the vast, incredible spread of land that stretched as far as she could see. The horizon was naught but an endless span of glorious blue. Below her, she could see dozens of the rivers which flowed through Karakura which appeared to be no more than trickles of sparkling blue liquid on the surface of the mass of green. Spots of brown, red, gold, and pinks greeted her as they passed over forested areas which were starting to react to the change of seasons. She spotted villages which looked more like tiny, bug-sized towns from the incredible height.

Stunned and overjoyed, she whispered, "This is marvelous." Laughing and mildly alarming the man in front of her, she exclaimed, "This is marvelous! Look, General Cifer – you can see the whole world from up here! Well, I suppose you know that, but-oh! Look!" she burst, pointing to a teeny, walled town that seemed to be made for dolls as they passed over it. "That's the second largest city in Karakura! It looks so little from up here!"

"Ulquiorra."

Blinking, Orihime glanced at him in surprise. His back was turned to her, so she could not see what he was feeling. "What?" she peeped.

"My name is Ulquiorra," the pale man stated. Crossing his legs, he instructed, "When you call me, call me that."

"But-"

He cut off her protest by glaring back at her, those emerald eyes dark. "Woman," he pressed, "I am not fond of that title. I accept it, but I would prefer to be called Ulquiorra. If I am to often be in your presence, I do not want to constantly be addressed by my rank."

After a moment, she smiled shyly and nodded. "All right." Glancing down once more, she immediately regained her joy as she pointed out another tiny village as they soared high above it.

She continued to talk for nearly the next hour even though the pale man did not respond to her even once. Instead, he listened, dissecting her tones and what she found important; colors she noticed, towns, peoples, roads, rivers, lakes, and other such useless information. They seemed to fascinate her, and while he mentally agreed that the view was spectacular, he did not feel the same glee that she did.

Her innocence and her happiness were as perplexing and frustrating as they were intriguing. He was taking her from her home, yet she was giddy. Why? Even amidst her fear and emotional pain, she smiled.

What was the source of her hope?

Thankfully, she went silent before his own questions could drive him mad. It was not her voice that was causing his slow descent into insanity, although at times it did gain a screeching pitch that was rather unappealing. Instead, it was her words and her attitude that caused him to wonder.

He stood by his initial assessment; she was a strange woman.

After another hour of silence aside from the whistle of the wind and the flap of Murciélago's wings, Ulquiorra looked back at her. Her smile had faded, and glistening trails were sent askew over her rosy cheeks by the breeze. Her autumn eyes had closed, and she trembled silently, but she was obviously making an effort to keep any sound trapped in her throat. She did not wish to show him her weakness, but she could not stop herself from grieving.

He added to his impression of her; she was strange, but she was strong.

The emerald-eyed man offered her no comfort, knowing that anything he said would only crush her spirit further because he had noticed her tears when she was so desperately trying to hide them. While testing her limits would be an interesting study in her behavior, he decided against it for the time being. It was less a measure of kindness and more one of prudence, he reasoned.

Below them, fluffy white clouds began to accumulate. Awed, she stared at them, the tears on her cheeks drying swiftly. "General-Ulquiorra?" she corrected quickly.

"Yes, Princess?" he responded.

"Can we go down there?" Her autumn eyes looked to him, pleading. When he did not respond immediately, she tapped one of Murciélago's scales and requested, "Lord Murciélago, could you descend just a bit, please?"

_My name itself suffices as well, Princess,_ the obsidian beast replied. With a short chuckle, he advised, _You may want to hold on to Ulquiorra again._

Enthusiastically, the amber-haired princess once again embraced the pale general and pressed herself against his back. He tensed at the sudden contact, but a moment later, the revelation that she was incredibly soft and malleable was blown from his mind as Murciélago tipped into a nosedive.

With the few loose pieces of her hair streaming behind her, Orihime laughed. The adrenaline rushed through her system while they plummeted through the massive cumulous cloud, the wind rushing past them and nearly lifting her from her seat. In an instant, she was soaked to the bone, and when she looked up, she saw the hole they had created in the aerial formation's watery mass.

They emerged below the cloud, and with a powerful flap of his dark wings and a twist of his sinewy tail, Murciélago spun twice before vaulting upwards once again. Her heart soared with the creature below her, and her brain swam, but the joy overflowed uncontrollably, leaving her guffawing breathlessly into the general's back as they once again shot into the glorious light of the sun that warmed her wet, chilling skin.

When she finally regained some breath, the beaming princess exclaimed, "You are absolutely fantastic, Murciélago!" Shivering and shaking from the rush, she still clung tightly to the raven-haired man. Giddy, she asked, "Is this what you experience all the time?"

Ulquiorra glanced back at her. Her hair was messy, her cheeks were as red as tomatoes, and her dress had gone slightly wonky. Despite her disheveled appearance, her pert, pink lips were stretched into a brilliant grin, and her eyes twinkled with the lights of a thousand stars. Her heart drummed loudly through her breast and into his back, and though he could not feel it himself, her joy was obvious and pressing against the very air around them.

Finally, he replied honestly. "No." He had long ago lost his ability to find joy in anything. "No, I do not."

Again, her eyes filled with compassion, and he tensed as the familiar sensation of anger infected him. He was tempted to force her hands off of him and insist that she not touch him again, but he knew that was not an option. Instead, he let her withdraw slowly, her knowledge of his irritation clear by her caution and lack of vociferousness once she had let go.

They did not speak again for another two hours, and she did not touch him again until he told her to. When she asked him why, Ulquiorra explained, "I must update Starrk on the continuation of events, and you will most likely need to stretch and breathe. The air higher in the dome is thinner than you are accustomed to." The fact seemed to fascinate her, so he added, "If you spend too much time in the upper sphere, you will most likely become sick and lose consciousness."

"Why do you not?" Orihime inquired, intrigued.

For a long moment, the pale man did not answer. Finally, he replied simply, "I am accustomed to the changes in altitude."

She didn't know why such a small thing was so difficult for him to say, but she did not press any further as they descended. To please her, Murciélago dove downwards again, but although she grinned, she did not screech with laughter as she had before. The massive creature pulled up at the last moment and left a deep imprint in the soft dirt as he nearly crashed down, jolting his passengers. The princess received such a shock that she squeaked and let go of her lifeline. She felt herself sliding to the side, but his cool, pale hand wrapped around her forearm and pulled her upright again.

After a moment of regarding her with mild contempt, Ulquiorra stood up and dexterously flipped off of the dragon's back with a short, running start. He soared as if he flew on his own wings, twisted, and landed in a perfect crouch. In awe at his acrobatic ability, Orihime watched, her mouth agape.

Only as she stood, too, did she realize they had landed outside a massive ocean of tents that stretched as far as she could see. She had been so occupied with the landing that she had not noticed them before, but now she saw them, she was stricken with fear.

This was one tenth of Lord Aizen's army – one _tenth_ – and yet as she looked out upon it, she estimated that it had to contain at least twenty-thousand men, and Karakura's entire force contained only fifteen-thousand. The rest of her people were farmers, people of craft, or merchants between the two greater kingdoms on either side of them.

Although she was unsure of Soul Society's actual number of troops, she knew for a fact that it was nowhere near as daunting as that of the Empire of the Sands.

"Princess!" Ulquiorra called. "Do not dwaddle! Come down!"

Cautiously, Orihime made her way to the side of the dragon. Looking down into his impatient emerald eyes, she yelled back, "How?"

_Jump_, Murciélago instructed. Turning his flexible neck so that his massive head faced her, he assured, _Ulquiorra will catch you_.

The buxom young princess blushed the color of ripe cherries. With her voice caught in her throat, she wrapped her arms around herself and croaked, "B-but I'm heavy."

Murciélago laughed, causing her to nearly tumble, and relayed her protest to the pale man below. She saw him sigh and – though perhaps it was her imagination – roll his eyes. "Woman," Ulquiorra replied impatiently, "if you are heavy, then I am ten feet tall." When she still hesitated, he insisted, "_Jump_, or I will leave you up there."

Closing her eyes, she sighed. "Just like with flying," she whispered to herself, bringing a smile to her lips at the thought. "Just dive." Three steps later, she was falling, but it felt more like floating with her eyes shut. Again, her gut flew up into her chest, but it jerked back into place as she landed in the Espada's arms.

Her autumn eyes flew open, her face heated unbearably once again. During her leap, her dress had flared, and as she had landed, it had settled over his head. His messy raven hair was completely concealed inside her skirt. He huffed, his warm breath landing on her thigh.

At the sudden, moist caress on her bare skin, she gasped and hurriedly pulled her skirt back over her legs. She would have apologized, but her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she couldn't manage to make herself speak.

"Can you stand, or would you like me to carry you?" Ulquiorra prompted, breaking the silence with no sign that the occurrence had been awkward for him – it had only been minorly annoying.

Shaking her head, Orihime stammered, "I-I can walk."

He set her feet on the ground and waited until he was sure that she would stay steady. Once he was confident in her equilibrium, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned around. "Follow me, woman," he ordered, "and stay close."

Orihime folded her hands behind her and trailed after him. Together, they ventured into the mass of tan tents that stretched on for miles. Everywhere she looked, she saw men dressed for war, eating, talking, sharpening their weapons, and otherwise going about their business. It wasn't long before they began to notice her, the only woman in a camp full of twenty-thousand men following one of their most well-recognized generals. Intimidated by the eyes that stuck to her like glue, she hurried her pace to keep up with the emerald-eyed man's long stride.

After what seemed like ages but was actually only several minutes, Ulquiorra turned to a large tent hemmed with purple silk. He pulled aside the tent flap and gestured for the princess to enter. Hesitantly, she did as she was told.

Inside, the entire room was lined with furs. Pillows were stacked in a mass on one side, and a small table covered in food with two chairs sat on the other side. A few chests of luggage were tucked inside, as well, and small globes of contained flame lit the darkness.

From the pillow fort, a head of choppy, white-blonde hair popped up. "Ulquiorra!" Crawling out of the sea of cushions, the girl straightened herself out, held up two fingers, and grinned. "Hiya! Good to see you again!"

Orihime tried not to gape; the girl, most likely at or approaching fourteen years old, was barely dressed. She wore a sleeveless, white vest that was clasped thrice midway down her torso, revealing a bit of the curve of her budding breasts and the majority of her midriff. Along with that, she wore a pair of tight shorts that ended just above her knee.

Half a moment later, the princess remembered that the Mundans lived in a desert, and that deserts were hot, which completely explained her attire – or lack thereof.

"Lilynette," Ulquiorra acknowledged with a nod. "Where is your brother?"

Scoffing, the skinny girl inquired, "Where do you think?"

The pale man nodded in understanding and instructed, "Wake him."

"You got it!" she chirped cheerfully. She leapt back into the pile of pillows. "Oh, big bro~other!" she sang.

A moment later, a horrible hacking and gagging sound caused Orihime to startle. Cough after cough continued until finally they eased and gave way to a wheeze of, "What the hell, Lil?! How many times have I told you that you can't just shove your hand down people's throats?!"

"Well, if you didn't sleep with your mouth open and snore like a boar, I couldn't do that!" the girl sassed.

Choking, the man asked, "What is it? Why did you wake me up?"

"Ulquiorra's here."

There was a pause. "Damn."

"Yeah, I know, right? He's got a hot chick with him this time – big hips, nice tits."

Humiliated, Orihime blushed and glanced down self-consciously at her far-too-obvious chest.

"It's not right for a lady to talk like that!"

"Lady?" Lilynette cackled. "Where?! I don't see any lady!"

"Look, just get off me, okay?! If Ulquiorra's here, we're both screwed!"

Pillows were thrown in every which direction as the two crawled out of the makeshift bed. The young, hardly clothed girl was joined by an older, taller male who was just as thin as his sister. He, however, was mostly clothed, including gloves which covered his slender fingers, had ear-length brown hair, and had blue eyes that seemed heavy and tired. Rubbing the back of his neck and yawning, he raised his other hand and waved. "Hey, Ulquiorra," he greeted. His gaze flickered to the young woman, and he began, "Hi, Princess…?"

Smacking her brother's butt, Lilynette corrected, "Orihime! Gods, do you even listen when people talk?"

"Not really."

Ulquiorra exhaled slowly through his nose before introducing, "Princess, these miscreants are Generals Coyote Starrk and Lilynette Gingerbuck, who in tandem are the Primeras Espadas of Lord Aizen's army. Starrk," he continued, "Lilynette, this is Princess Orihime of Karakura Kingdom."

Nodding in affirmation, Starrk noted nonchalantly, "So that plan of Aizen's worked, huh?"

"Have you ever known Lord Aizen's plans to fail, Starrk?" the pale man pointed out.

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Um," Orihime peeped, confused, "I thought you said you were siblings, but your family names are different."

The brunette man scratched his head as he made his way to the table. Grabbing an apple and taking a bite, he stated through the fruit, "We were orphans. Our parents had been killed by bandits as we traveled from Las Noches to the coast."

"Lord Aizen found us together out in the middle of the sands," Lilynette added. Her generally sharp countenance softened considerably as she shrugged and explained, "He brought us to Las Noches, trained us, and gave us a home. Ever since he found us, we've been together."

For a moment, the princess' heart swelled with hope and quivered with doubt. Surely, someone who would take in a pair of orphans couldn't be too cruel, right?

Ulquiorra spoke again, interrupting her thoughts. "Starrk was also recently wed to Aizen's eldest daughter, Tia Harribel," he remarked, though it seemed by his detached tone that he didn't really care; it was just a fact.

Grinning, Orihime chirped, "Congratulations! That's wonderful!"

Sheepishly, Starrk remained silent, but Lilynette's eyes lit up as she exclaimed, "I know, right?! She's a bit stuck up, but she's really nice, too! Her cold demeanor is like ice melting under the heat of their passion! And Coyote is head-over-heels in lo~ove with her!" she dramatized, laughing almost maniacally.

"That's enough, Lil," the tall, lanky man muttered, a blush dusting his cheeks.

"Not by a long shot, 'my wonderful, wild Coyote!'" the girl sighed dreamily.

At that, his eyes went wide, and he protested, "What?! Where did you – you were spying – Lil!"

"Geez, who knew ol'Shark Lady was such a sap!"

"Knock it off, Lil – and I told you to stop calling her that."

Leaning close to the amused princess, the teenager whispered loudly, "She's the Shark Lady because she'll just be going along quietly – peacefully, even – and minding her own business, and then SNAP!" she screamed, startling everyone but Ulquiorra, "she'll take a bite o'ya! That woman's got a temper – I'm just sayin'. You'll love her to bits, but do _not_ get on her bad side."

At that, Starrk remained silent for a long time. Finally, he sighed and admitted, "Okay, that part is true."

"I hate to interrupt this _lovely_ banter," Ulquiorra interjected although clearly the opposite was true, "but we must continue to Las Noches. If you will give me my sword, we will be on our way."

The siblings looked at each other, a pallor coming over their faces. An instant later, they both dove into the mass of pillows, digging and searching urgently.

Barely containing his agitation, the raven-haired man threatened, "If you have lost my sword, I–"

"We didn't lose it! We just misplaced it within the disorderly situation of our abode!" Lilynette interrupted.

Intrigued, Orihime watched his jaw lock and his shoulders tense. The motions were subtle, but she noticed his frustration increase the longer their search took. She supposed that if she lost a sword like his, with its unique white steel and glittering, green embellishments, she would be upset at its loss, too.

"Do not mock me, child," Ulquiorra called back.

"But it's so easy!" Another moment passed before the young girl exclaimed, "I found it!"

"Where was it?" Starrk inquired.

"Huh? Oh, it was under your ass-!"

"Just _give_ it to me," the pale man pressed impatiently as he lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

Nervously, the duo emerged. With swift, skittish movements, Lilynette returned the sword to him before scurrying back to her brother's side for protection.

Securing the blade to his belt, Ulquiorra sighed, "Thank you. Now, if you will pardon us, we will be going."

"Uh," Starrk added awkwardly, stepping forward, "Yammy woke up an hour ago. Finally. He wants to see you."

"He will see me when he returns to Las Noches," the emerald-eyed man retorted, glaring back at his comrade. "I have no time for his foolishness."

"He's pretty pissed at you."

"I don't doubt it. I did, after all, deprive him of the joy of killing dozens of people," the lithe male remarked disdainfully.

"He's threatening to kill you."

Ulquiorra almost snorted. "What, again?" Continuing on his way, he requested mockingly, "Please express my deepest apologies to that massive tub of lard. If he's still angry, he can try to kill me as often as he pleases when he returns – assuming he survives." Once more, he held open the fabric of the tent for the amber-haired woman. "Princess," he addressed, "if you please."

With a curtsy to the dynamic siblings, Orihime followed Ulquiorra once again. Having learned her lesson the first time, she hung close to him, not quite touching him but staying near enough that she could feel the heat and movement of his body. She felt the soldiers of Las Noches' eyes leering and gawking at her, but she kept her eyes on the spot between his shoulder blades. She noted that she could see the subtle movements of his musculature beneath the pristine fabric of his shirt. She recalled that the back of the neck was where she was most fond of staring at Ichigo; it was the place he was least likely to notice her watching. He had such wonderfully defined neck muscles that tightened whenever he was irritated or stressed. But she couldn't see the back of Ulquiorra's neck; it was covered by the fabric of his high-collared uniform.

Sadness enveloped her suddenly as she realized that she might never see Ichigo again; she might never see the unrequited love of her life ever again.

"Woman." When she looked up, she was suddenly met by the same piercing, emerald gaze. It was impatient, but there was a hint of something else that somehow softened his irritation. "Why did you stop?" He scoured her countenance intently, searching for his answer. "Is something the matter?"

Orihime's autumn eyes widened as she realized that her feet had stopped moving. Immediately, she responded, "No! No, I'm fine. I'm sorry; I was just lost in thought."

Although he knew she was not telling the whole truth, he let it go and nodded. "Very well, but do not do so again. It would be unwise for you to fall too far behind," he warned, sending a sideways glare a salivating circle of spectators and causing them to scatter.

Blushing, the young woman promised, "I won't."

Ulquiorra turned without another word and continued, the princess right on his heels.

They returned to Murciélago, and once again, she was lifted into the air by his tail while Ulquiorra ascended his scales with the agile precision of a cat. Orihime watched in awe and envy, wondering just _how_ he grabbed those smooth, thin ridges and _how_ he had gained the upper body strength to swing himself onto the dragon's back. Again, he moved to assist her, but he found her balancing by herself, looking utterly delighted at her newfound ability.

When she sat down again, she clung to him without being told. He was still unaccustomed to it – being _touched_. Though he had tried to recall the last time a human had touched him without intending to harm, it had taken him sifting through more than seven years of memories to find his last recollection. His aunt had never touched him; she had avoided him as if he were diseased, in fact, and so had his uncle and his cousins and his other acquaintances.

Not even Nelliel touched him; her attempted embraces were only jokes. Even if he did not avoid her, she would not actually follow through. Oh, she spoke nicely, and her words had sometimes been caresses in his ears, but so often, her words bordered on manipulative, begging beneath the surface for someone to fill the hole her own father had left vacant.

He had never been tempted to fill her. Even if he had, though, how could he fill someone who was more full than he ever had been?

As the princess shook with excitement, her fingers subconsciously curled into the crisp linen of his uniform, and her nails gently scraped the skin beneath. Her touch would have been pleasurable and comforting, but he did not want to feel _anything_, and he wanted _no one's_ comfort. The sooner they were in the air, the sooner she would release him, and the sooner the tortuous warmth of her hands would stop bleeding into his chest.

Sensing his increasing impatience, Murciélago leapt into the air and soared into the blue. Her heart was beating rapidly against his back, and when she did finally release him and return to marvelling at the ground below them, he felt the cold air rush and refresh his lungs, cooling the searing, invisible marks left by her hands.

If he did not go mad on his own, she would drive him insane before this war was over.

Steadily, the lush green of her homeland turned brown and grey as they passed over the dead, rocky span of land that separated the grasslands from the desert. Half an hour after they set out from Starrk's encampment, she spotted the first of the great sands of Hueco Mundo. Eagerly, she leaned to the side to get a better look.

To Ulquiorra's alarm, Orihime gasped. Looking back to make sure she was not injured in any way, he saw her eyes widen and brighten as she whispered, "Oh, it's beautiful."

She had expected it to be just one solid, endless span of tan, but instead, a rainbow of colors flooded her gaze. Golds, white, silver-grey, and the occasional hints of red, orange, and pink all concentrated into different areas lay below them. As time continued and the sun began to set, the colors were intensified, all reflecting the glorious hues of the sky. Although the dunes spanned on and on, she never found them dull.

They had been flying for nearly five hours when the sun finally relinquished its reign over the sky and gave way to the moon and her daughters. As it did, the desert turned silver beneath them. At that point, she withdrew a handkerchief full of pastries. She offered him the first choice, but he refused. For a long time, she ate her treats and gawked at the dunes in fascinated silence, seeing beauty even in the old, petrified trees that stuck out from the sand.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ulquiorra still watched just to make sure she did not fall off; it would do him no good to have her die already.

Suddenly, she slumped against his back, her head nestled between his shoulderblades. He tensed, inquiring, "Princess?" She did not reply. "Woman? What is wrong?" Instead of speaking, she exhaled slowly.

Her stomach full and her curiosity sated, she had fallen asleep.

As he contemplated this development, Murciélago advised, _You ought to hold on to her. She will not be able to maintain her balance while she is unconscious._

Reluctantly, Ulquiorra did so. He turned carefully, wrapped an arm awkwardly around her middle, and pulled her to rest in his lap. He positioned her so that her head rested on his shoulder, her body lay lax against his chest, and her legs folded up. Around her, his arms could reach the blunt spine in front of him, so he knew that when they landed, he would be able to maintain their stability.

_If she is sleeping_, Murciélago pointed out, _we can fly all night_.

"Then we will do so," Ulquiorra confirmed distractedly as his mind fogged for only a moment. In those few seconds, he noted that she smelled delightfully like a combination of vanilla and blossoms.

Shaking his head violently, he forced himself to ignore her unique fragrance that suddenly seemed so strong. He reasoned he had not noticed because he had been sitting upwind of her the whole time, and even when she had fallen into his arms earlier, he had been focused on his mission. Internally, he scolded himself for indulging what he considered Nnoitra-like thoughts. He had no excuse; he was just being a fool, and he was not too pompous to admit it.

_Ulquiorra,_ the dragon began, his tone a mix between teasing and suspicious, _your thoughts are turbulent. Your emotions are… flaring. Is something the matter?_

Inhaling and exhaling calmly, Ulquiorra cut down the thriving weeds of his emotions in the empty but tranquil garden of his mind. "No," he denied, "nothing is wrong. It was a momentary lapse of concentration. I am fine now."

In her sleep, Orihime's lip trembled, and a single, grieving tear dripped from her long eyelashes.

* * *

><p><strong>THE ULQUIHIME. IT LIIIIIIIIVES!<strong>

**Love, Amaranth **


	14. Magnan Imus

**Thanks to northpeach, Cerice Belle, Vengeful Bookworm, LHisawesome4ever for reviewing!**

* * *

><p>"Princess." Someone nudged her, waking her just enough to draw a protesting mumble from her lips. "Princess, wake up. If you do not get up now, you will miss our landing."<p>

"Five more minutes, Tats," she murmured, her head lolling to the side as she attempted to bury herself in her pillows. Why were the cushions so firm? Had Jinta done something to them again?

"Woman, stop nuzzling me."

Immediately, her autumn eyes popped open. Gasping, she jolted away from the man she had mistaken as her bed and began to stammer when his arm wrapped firmly around her stomach, respectfully avoiding any awkward areas.

"Calm down," Ulquiorra instructed seriously but quietly. Noting her discomfort and mistaking it for fear, he assured, "I am not going to harm you, woman. I simply do not wish for you to overreact all the way off of Murciélago and down to the sand."

Orihime tensed, stilling herself completely. She blushed, half because his arm was hooked securely around her belly, and half in indignation that he actually thought she would be foolish enough to fall off the dragon.

Whatever traces of anger she held onto vanished when he released her to point to the horizon. "Look," he said. "That, Princess, is Las Noches."

Her eyes followed his pale, slender finger to the sands below. Immediately, she gasped in awe. The most massive city she had ever seen in her life rested beyond. Made completely of white stone, the incredible, domed metropolis possessed a dozen towers all around its circumference, a gate that was surely a hundred meters high, and walls twice that. The morning sun, which already was turning hot and dry, crowned it in gold and cast an endless shadow over the desert. Even as they flew closer for several minutes, they approached it slowly, indicating its vast size.

When she peeked at the man behind her, she noted that there was something different in his emerald-eyes – reluctance, she believed it was, but the feeling was not alone. For a moment, but only a brief one when he looked forward again, she saw something other than darkness – a sparkle she couldn't explain. Instead of inspiring pity as most of his previous looks had, this one caused her heart to beat loudly, drowning out the wind in her ears.

Tightening his grip on the spine in front of them, Ulquiorra broke the silence and stated, "Whenever you are ready, Murciélago."

The obsidian dragon grinned. Without further warning, he plunged downward. Orihime started to scream, but within moments, it turned to giddy, breathless laughter as Murciélago twisted down through the wind currents until he glided above the surface of the desert. Sand flew up in a wake behind them, bits of shimmering flecks glinting in the powerful sunlight. They soared through the lower atmosphere, and the wind raged in her ears and her heart palpitated so fast that her chest ached as they neared Las Noches and picked up speed.

Steadily, she began to panic as the wall grew nearer, and Murciélago continued accelerating and did not pull up. She could not find the breath to protest, but when the dragon curved his entire body sharply at the last moment, she managed to squeak in surprise. With a flap of his wings, Murciélago shot straight up.

Orihime found herself unable to do anything but hold on and laugh. She had lost her breath long ago, yet she still trembled with glee. Her hands grasped to the firm spine beside Ulquiorra's as the dragon spun once, sending her into a dizzy, but happy tizzy once again. With another beat of his mighty wings, they went even faster.

She lifted her gaze to look at Ulquiorra only to have time freeze and her heart stutter. The wind had blown his mussed, raven hair out of his face, allowing the light of the sun to reflect in his brilliant emerald eyes. Finally, she identified the foreign glow in his gaze; it was life. It seemed to be out of place in his dead, empty, yet fathomless eyes, but she did not doubt it for a moment; in the midst of the wind and the danger and the adrenaline, he did not feel joyful, he did not feel hopeful, and he did not feel free, but he felt alive – like there was something more to himself than just a bloody sword and a dark demeanor.

An instant later, Murciélago's body rippled gracefully as they shifted to fly atop of massive dome. To her surprise, she found that the dome was not complete; a large, perfectly circular hole had been carved in order to let in only a certain amount of sunlight.

As they approached the center, the obsidian dragon released a terrible, deafening roar, and again, they plummeted. Try as she might, Orihime could not absorb all the information that passed by her eyes; the tall buildings that were minuscule in comparison to the dome, the city streets, the houses, the splashes of color amongst the white stone, the people who exclaimed as the black serpent descended.

They flew downwards toward what Orihime assumed had to be the palace. It couldn't possibly just be a palace, though; it was as large as the capitol of Karakura itself! Nonetheless, as she eyed the incredible courtyard they still aimed for head-first, she wondered in both fear and awe at the power of Las Noches.

As he seemed so fond of doing, Murciélago unfurled his wings suddenly, slowing them almost too late. Still, he landed lightly, for a dragon, only causing a crack or two to appear in the cobblestone.

Without hesitation or wavering, Ulquiorra stood up. However, when Orihime attempted to join him, she found her legs were unstable beneath her, and had he not been prepared and caught her, she would have collapsed.

Rumbling in laughter, Murciélago apologized good-humoredly, _I am sorry, Princess, but Las Noches' angles are so entertaining; I could not resist. Forgive me._

Rosy-cheeked in excitement and embarrassment at the arms secured around her waist, the windswept princess gasped, "Sorry? Don't be sorry!" Managing a weak, breathless laugh, she exclaimed, "That was the most fun I have ever had in my life!"

Ulquiorra sensed Murciélago's immediate fondness for her and contained a sigh; it seemed she was infectious even to reptiles.

When Orihime had regained her ability to hold herself upright, they repeated the process of demounting once again. She did not hesitate to jump this time, but she did hold down her skirt in midair.

Just as the pale man had set her safely on the ground, a sudden cry of glee echoed through the massive courtyard. "Ulquiorra~a!"

At that, he did sigh, though the sound was a quiet one. At the last moment, he stepped out of the way, causing the voluptuous, turquoise-haired woman to rush past him and catch herself gracefully as she always did.

Nelliel turned with a sweet, gentle smile and bounced into his personal space as he pulled his pack off his shoulder and pushed his fingers through his hair. "Did you have a good trip?" she asked.

Ulquiorra looked at her face, which was far too close to his own for his own comfort, but he did not say a word and he raised an eyebrow. The answer had always been the same; the trip was successful. He did not see why she needed to ask it every time he returned.

Not at all bothered by his lack of response, the hazel-eyed woman turned to the confused but curious princess. "Welcome to Las Noches, Princess Orihime!" she greeted, a cheerful, sweet smile stuck on her lips. She held out her hand and introduced, "I'm Nelliel Tu Odelschwanck, one of Lord Aizen's daughters."

Puzzled by her bright tattoo, panicking, and debating between shaking her hand and curtsying, the amber-haired girl did an odd combination of both and returned, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Princess Nelliel."

Softly, Nelliel laughed and shook her head. To Ulquiorra, she giggled, "Isn't she the cutest?"

Ulquiorra did not reply, watching the pair with a distinct lack of real interest.

"I don't have the title of princess," the older woman explained. Seeming not to be bothered by the fact at all, she revealed, "I am technically one of Father's 'illegitimate' children. If anything, my title would be 'lady,' but I don't like it. You'll find that most of us don't," she predicted. Noting the pink that had colored the princess' cheeks, she released her hand and asked, "Does that make you uncomfortable?"

Honestly but sheepishly, Orihime acknowledged, "A little, but that's just because my culture is so different from yours. It's not meant to be personal."

"I don't take it personally, then!" Nelliel grinned, shrugging.

"Nelliel," Ulquiorra asked before the girls could say anything more, "where is Grimmjow?"

"Why do you always ask me that?" the hazel-eyed woman sighed.

"Because where you are, he is always close, and I specifically wish to avoid him," the pale man replied pointedly. "I am in no mood for his stupidity."

"You're not being very nice," Nelliel remarked, her eyebrows furrowing in sadness and exasperation.

Without hesitation, Ulquiorra retorted, "That is most likely because I am not very nice in the first place." His empty, intense gaze turned to the princess, and he instructed, "Come, woman. Lord Aizen ordered me to take you to his throne room as soon as we arrived."

The turquoise-haired dame immediately melted in sympathy when she saw the younger girl's shocked expression. Stepping forward, she urged, "At least let her get settled in first."

"Those were not my orders," the emerald-eyed man refuted. Unwaveringly, he persisted, "She will meet Lord Aizen, and afterwards, I am certain he will order me to take her to her room and show her the preparations we have made to ensure their sufficiency. Until then," he decided with no regard to the princess' mood of mild panic, "I will follow the plan he has outlined without deviation."

Leaving his comrade tight-lipped and defeated, he addressed the amber-haired belle again and insisted, "Come with me. I know it is inconvenient, but the sooner we begin, the sooner it will be over."

"Okay," Orihime acquiesced, her voice cracking.

To her alarm, he immediately tossed a water-skin from his pack in her direction. She barely caught it and, fumbling, looked at him in question.

"Drink it," Ulquiorra demanded coldly, stuffing his idle hand into his pocket. "I will not have Lord Aizen scolding me for neglecting you despite your own poor planning."

The autumn-eyed woman blushed and bristled, suddenly feeling as if she very much disliked this man. Yes, it had slipped her mind to bring water, but he had been the one pressuring her, albeit indirectly, and now he was practically accusing her of something so little. She was tempted to dump it just to spite him, which was odd, because she was not a spiteful person in the least. He had, however, managed to wear down her magnanimous nature and irritate her more than she liked to admit.

Finally, she popped the cork and did as she was told. The sweet, clear water eased her throat of an ache she hadn't even realized existed. She had tried to just take a sip, but when she held it back out to him, he gave her a look that bordered on threatening, so she obeyed his silent command and emptied it. With a contented sigh, she withdrew it from her lips and threw it back at him. Although surprised, he caught it dexterously as she withdrew the chopsticks from her hair, put them between her teeth, and pulled her hairbrush from her pack.

"What are you doing, woman?" the general questioned. "We do not have time for you to dawdle."

Swiftly, Orihime brushed and re-twisted her hair into a neater bun and set it in place. Returning her tool to her bag, she remarked offhandedly, "Just because your hair always looks fabulous doesn't mean other people don't have trouble with theirs, General."

There was a pause.

"_What_?"

When she glanced up, she almost laughed; he had such an expression of unguarded shock that it was too funny to resist fully. His emerald eyes had widened a teeny bit, his jaw had locked, and his thick black eyebrows had lifted a centimeter. The changes were all small – almost unnoticeable – but she had spent her life watching people and inspecting their emotions; she knew.

"Your hair _is_ fabulous," Nelliel, who had been somewhat forgotten, added.

"Do not encourage her," Ulquiorra scolded sharply. As he whipped his head to look at his companion, he inadvertently caused a few strands of raven hair to fall and brush over his nose elegantly.

Orihime snorted and giggled.

"Woman," the emerald-eyed man ordered, his voice tight and unwavering, "come with me – now. No more of your ridiculous remarks."

Alarmed and ashamed by his terse tone, the princess blushed, pinched her lips together, and lowered her gaze. Why was he suddenly being so cruel? True, he hadn't been all smiles and rainbows before, but for some reason, he was even less patient and less gentle now that they were in Las Noches. He was home; shouldn't he have been happier?

After a second, however, she decided that in the end, his brusque mood wasn't her fault – she was just a victim of the darkness that had laid claim to him.

As such, she inhaled deeply through her nose and exhaled slowly through her mouth. With her gentlest, sweetest smile, she lifted her warm autumn eyes to his cold emerald ones and nodded. "All right. Lead the way," she affirmed.

For an instant, she thought she saw him bristle in response to her unwavering kindness, but he turned on his heel and showed her only his rigid back a moment later. Intuitively, she knew the conversation was over, so she simply waved a goodbye to Nelliel and Murciélago before hurrying to keep up with Ulquiorra's long, steady strides.

The massive doors, large enough to accommodate even Murciélago's massive size, she believed, were wide open. They ascended a series of white stairs to reach them, and when they passed through, she gasped quietly. The halls were wide and tall, reaching at least thirty meters above her head, and at the top, long, thin windows let in the glorious golden sunlight. The thick, white walls blocked out the majority of the heat, leaving only the brilliant luminescence.

As Orihime walked along, she gaped in awe. She would have remarked on everything that crossed her mind, but she was aware that the general had soured somewhat, so she did not want to aggravate him. Something was bothering him, and even if she didn't know what it was, she guessed that asking about it would only make it worse. He seemed like the type of person who did not like to disclose personal information, even if he was asked. It was unlike Chad, she thought, who would almost always answer a question, but rarely offer information that was not asked for. No, Ulquiorra was not just reluctant to share his thoughts – he was entirely resistant.

Just as she began to wonder why, a sudden, faint, foul curse caught her attention, followed by a sharp, echoing crack. A moment later, she bumped into Ulquiorra's back; he had stopped.

Without a word, Ulquiorra turned toward the sounds. His pace increased just slightly, forcing her to jog to keep up with him. He gave no explanation, but she could see the intensity and purpose of his movements.

They turned the last corner, and Orihime held back a gasp and gagged as the sharp scent of blood accosted her nose. She trembled and froze at the entrance to the hallway even though Ulquiorra continued, terrified by the sight.

Three young men, all in their upper teens or early twenties, surrounded one. The bangs of his shocking, electric-blue hair was stained with blood due to the gash on his temple; darkening, numerous bruises colored his large, muscular chest revealed by the open jacket he wore; his lip had been split in a few places; and, worst of all, though it seemed like it was not a new wound, his left arm was completely missing.

With his remaining arm bracing himself against the wall and his chest heaving, he glared at the three assailants. "Go rut yourself, Luppi!" he spat as he blinked blood out of his eye. "And take your little friends with you before I get angry!"

Laughing, the effeminate one of the group – a shorter boy with black hair and lavender eyes that sparked maliciously – mocked, "Aw, does poor GrimmKitty have a booboo? Besides, I'd say you're pretty angry already, big brother!" He lifted his fingers to his lips and gasped as if he had just realized something. "Whoops!" he corrected. "I mean _former_ big brother! I keep forgetting that you were disowned – you're a disgrace!" he taunted. "And," he added venomously, "Father doesn't tolerate disgraces, does he?!" He lifted his hand to strike the larger man against, but as he brought it down, the abused male caught his thin wrist and squeezed.

However, before he could break any bones like he had intended, one of Luppi's friends kicked him in the gut, and the other grabbed his good arm and shoved him against the wall. At that, Luppi did hit him with the back of his hand. The blue-haired man spat bloody saliva onto the floor and seethed.

"How pitiful, former brother!" Luppi practically giggled. Gripping the burly male by the throat although his small fingers could hardly reach around enough to be a threat, he belittled, "Are you really so weak now? For years, you thought you were the best; the strongest; the most sure of himself! Now look at you! You're just pathetic!"

Scoffing, the victimised man rasped, "Me? _I'm_ the pathetic one? Screw you, Luppi! You're the one attacking a man with one arm; _you're_ the one who needs your lackeys holding me back before you can so much as scratch me! Even without my arm," he jibed, "if it was just you against me, I'd crush your little skull, and you know it, coward!"

"Don't talk to me like that, Grimmjow!" Luppi screeched. "You're nothing! Father stripped you of everything! Your title in the court, your place as his son, your rank in the army, your power, and your arm! He gave me your place, so either bow to me, or I swear, I'll kill you!"

Fire blazed in his azure eyes as he barked, "Buzz off, shithead!"

Enraged, Luppi drew a knife from his belt and made to thrust it into his half-brother's chest. Before he could, however, a pale hand encircled his wrist, and a cold voice cooled the heat of their hatred. "That is enough, Luppi."

With a sly, cruel look in his lavender eyes, the skinny young man turned to look at the emerald-eyed general. "Ulquiorra," he questioned quietly but poisonously, "what are you doing?"

Not even sparing Grimmjow a glance, Ulquiorra reminded, "Lord Aizen ordered that despite his disgrace, he was not to be killed."

"He disrespected _me_, Lord Aizen's son! You know it's against Father's law for worms like him to openly defy the royal family!" Luppi cried shrilly. Laughing, he countered, "Besides, I thought you'd be glad to see him dead after what he did to you. Everyone knows you hate him!"

"He is not to be killed," Ulquiorra repeated. His voice was calm, solid, and unquestionable. Luppi's taunt had not flustered him in the least. "Put away your knife," he ordered, "and tell your comrades to withdraw."

"Let me go first," the teenager replied, smirking.

A moment later, Aizen's son gasped and squealed quietly as his wrist was compressed in Ulquiorra's vice-like grip. "Kill him," he threatened smoothly, "and I will turn you over to Lord Aizen and request to deliver your punishment myself. Am I clear?"

The smugness in Luppi's lavender eyes turned to fear instantly. Earnestly, he nodded.

With that, Ulquiorra released him, and the three boys fled, leaving Grimmjow to slump against the wall in exhaustion.

"Took you long enough, Dragon Boy," the blue-haired man snorted. "You couldn't have stopped them before they choked me half to death?"

When the pale general replied, his voice was icy and detached. "You seem to be under the delusion that I did this for you," he observed. "Lord Aizen ordered that you would not be killed. I was enforcing that order. I have done you no favors."

"Screw you. Screw Luppi. Hell, screw me," Grimmjow chuckled. A moment later, he groaned, regretting the action that had resonated in his chest and exacerbated his bruises. Without asking for help, he struggled to his feet, cursing under his breath as his wounds shot fresh pain into his system in protest. Suddenly noticing the woman down the hall, he asked, "Who's the bitch?"

"Keep your vulgarity under control and at least _try_ to be civilized, Grimmjow," Ulquiorra scolded over the sound of the amber-haired belle's shocked gasp. "This is Princess Orihime of Karakura. She is our guest."

Snorting, the muscular male remarked, "Yeah, right – 'guest.' I'm sure that's all she is." He turned his azure eyes to her and bid gruffly, "Well, Princess, welcome to Las Noches. Enjoy your stay in proverbial Hell."

Despite his rude greeting, Orihime was still overcome with compassion because of his injuries. "Hello," she returned. Eagerly, she requested, "I know this will sound odd, but may I-?"

"No," Ulquiorra interrupted. He glared back at her and refuted, "You may not use your magic on him. It is Lord Aizen's order that no one may offer him assistance."

Immediately, she began to tear up as she protested, "But he's _hurt_."

"I know that, woman; I am not blind," the raven-haired man retorted almost sharply. "However, Lord Aizen's orders will be followed. Do you understand me?"

Orihime nodded, albeit reluctantly.

"Good." Turning to the spiky-haired man, Ulquiorra stated, "I am taking her to be presented to Lord Aizen. Everyone – including you – is required to attend."

Grimmjow scoffed and acquiesced, "Fine. I'll see you there, then, kissass." Without another word, he set off down the hall, showing no sign that his wounds weakened his stride whatsoever.

"We have wasted time," the pale soldier remarked passively. "We must continue."

Confused and frightened by what she had just witnessed, Orihime did not argue as she hurried after him. The halls continued, and only after ten minutes of walking did they reach a door. Slowly and dramatically, the massive doors opened, and they stepped into the incredibly huge room.

Dozens of pedestals surrounded the center of the room, all of varying heights and sizes. She guessed that they were proportioned depending on who they were reserved for – higher and lower members of the court, respectively. She was as awed as she was terrified. She had known that Hueco Mundo placed more value on class and rank, but they made it far more obvious than she had expected.

At the highest pedestal sat the one person she was both excited and horrified to meet; the king of Hueco Mundo, Lord Sōsuke Aizen. With his dark-brown eyes, he inspected her from his throne. While less intently, she did the same. The first thing that occurred to her, surprisingly enough, was that for a man in his mid-forties, he was actually very attractive. His face was shaped pleasantly – not too thin or too wide – and his jaw was angled almost squarely, but not quite. Unlike some of the members of his court, he was not fat, but he was not overly muscular like Yammy or Grimmjow. Despite that, she could see his broad shoulders beneath his white robe, and though his sleeves flared and concealed his arms, his hands appeared sturdy and calloused, though most likely from handling a sword rather than actual strenuous labor. His eyes, too, were deep and dark and mysterious, and his wavy, rather glorious hair had not even begun to go gray.

On a solely physical level, Orihime could understand why so many women would want to marry him.

When Ulquiorra stopped, and the princess with him, Aizen uncrossed his legs and stood. His low, rich, smooth voice resounded through the room as he smirked and greeted, "Welcome, Princess Orihime, to Las Noches."

At the sound of his voice, Orihime's eyes widened. It had penetrated her; she could _feel_ it – his tangible presence – as it echoed in her ears. It was warm and velvety and alluring, immediately tempting her walls to drop and her soul to bare itself to him. At the same time that unexpected enamoration attempted to settle within her, a terror unlike anything she had ever known which froze her blood and locked her throat burst from deep within her.

This was not simply charm; he was not simply a safe, kind, comfortable person, she realized. He was using magic beyond all her understanding of its boundaries to soften her heart and force himself inside.

Suddenly, he was no longer appealing whatsoever.

Hiding her instinctive fear and distaste, she smiled her best smile and curtsied. "Thank you, Lord Aizen," she returned with as much confidence, sweetness, and diplomacy she could muster, "for inviting me to be your guest. I appreciate your gracious offer."

If his magic was anything like hers, she knew that he would realize that his attempt had not taken hold. A moment later, her suspicion was confirmed; the temptation to fawn over him and surrender to his whims lifted completely. The look in his eyes changed from polite to intrigued, as if he had not expected her to resist.

"I trust your trip was comfortable," he prompted.

"Oh, yes," she confirmed with a soft giggle at the memory of soaring through the skies. "I enjoyed it immensely."

Nodding, the king confirmed, "Good. I'm glad to hear it. Now," he continued, sounding increasingly interested, "I do hate to be abrupt, but would it be too much of an imposition for me to request a demonstration of your power?"

Surprised, Orihime's autumn eyes blinked twice. "What?" she peeped.

"I have heard that they are unlike anything seen in the history of Cloroxia," Aizen explained. Smirking suavely, he suggested, "Surely such a request is not so unordinary. It is mere curiosity. If it is too taxing for you after your long journey, a demonstration could be scheduled at a later time."

She knew that he was riling her, trying to make her feel weak by suggesting that she was too tired to use her magic, but before she could think about it, she responded, "What would you like me to do, Lord Aizen?"

Pleased by her reply, he chuckled deeply. The sound brushed over her enticingly, but she concealed the shiver that tickled her spine. With a wave his hand, he gestured to one of the pedestals above her. "Heal Grimmjow for me, would you?" he requested.

The rest of the court immediately began to murmur in confusion. She overheard some of it – mostly people remarking on the blue-haired man's disgrace – but she kept her focus on Grimmjow himself. Uncertain, he rose from his seat, showing no signs that he had been beaten earlier aside from the bruises around his middle. Without a word of question, he descended from the pedestal and joined the two newcomers in the center of the hall.

"Remove your jacket, Grimmjow," Aizen ordered offhandedly, "so we can observe her powers fully."

Suspicious but obedient, the azure-eyed man obeyed. Shrugging his left shoulder, he pushed off the one floppy sleeve and let the jacket fall.

Orihime blushed at the sight of his bare, burly torso, but she inspected him anyways and found herself concealing a gasp of pity and horror. Despite the time since he had lost his arm, the stump was still rough and bumpy and scarred. The flesh that had settled was pale, but certain areas looked as if they had once been infected and had taken longer to heal properly. Furthermore, there was a spot on his back that almost caused her to gag; it looked as if someone had scraped out his skin with a spoon. She paled at the thought of the pain he had been caused, but she managed to limit the effect her empathy held over her and not cry.

Despite her shock and mild fear, she took a cautious step toward him and smiled. In a whisper, she promised, "This won't hurt. It may take a little while, but it won't hurt."

Irritated that he was being made a spectacle of once again, Grimmjow hissed, "Quit yapping and just do it, woman."

Sighing, blushing, and closing her eyes, Orihime murmured her incantation. When the golden light had completely surrounded him, then she did gasp – loudly, in fact – at the sheer amount of internal agony and rage that increased with every beat of his heart. How was he still standing being in so much pain? The stub of his arm ached, his gut where he had been beaten still pulsed furiously, and the ribs that had been broken sent sharp pains into his chest. There was so much anger and so much hatred in his heart that she found herself frightened by it even though it wasn't meant for her.

Her knees buckled, and she trembled, but her compassion only caused her dome to glow brighter. She knew it was impossible for her to do so, but as much as she wanted to heal his body, she wanted to heal his heart. No matter who she had been healing, she always had wanted to heal their hearts as well, and it broke her own to know that such a feat was beyond her capabilities.

Slowly, his pain ebbed, and with it, so did his fury. Shock and awe replaced it as his bruises and pains vanished, and steadily, his arm began to regenerate and reweave itself.

"What the hell are you doing, bitch?!" Luppi screamed suddenly, having descended to the main floor as well. "Father," he screeched, "this is some kind of trick! This isn't possible; Master Tōsen destroyed his arm! The light will vanish, and when it does, his arm will still be gone! I'm telling you, this isn't possible!" Not waiting for his father to respond, Luppi turned to the trio and declared, "You hear me, bitch? You'll have to let down your illusion eventually, and when you do, I'll kill you for lying to us! Hear me?! I'll ruttin' kill you, woman, and then I'll kill that blue-haired bastard for playing along!"

Passively, Ulquiorra placed his hand on his sword.

"What… what the hell?"

The sudden, wondering, almost joyful remark caught everyone's attention. Orihime's light had faded, leaving Grimmjow unusually whole. The tattoo on his back was as dark and clear as it had been three years before, and as he wiggled his fingers, he gazed at them in shock. He could feel them, and his control over them was not impaired at all even though they had not been used for so long. His left arm was back, as strong as it had ever been.

It wasn't possible. He scoffed and turned over his hand to look at his palm. He clenched his fingers until his nails bit into his skin, the pinch very real and so incredibly relieving. He laughed, shortly at first and then louder and clearer and more exuberant. His arm was back; she had restored his arm!

Suddenly, the realization washed over him. Looking at his father and seeing the amusement, pride, and approval in those dark, umber eyes, Grimmjow understood.

His punishment was over. Finally, after three years, his sin was washed clean. His transgression was not forgiven, but it was forgotten. He was an Espada again; he was a man of power again; he was Aizen's son again. His place in the court was once again his own, which meant in no uncertain terms that it was _not_ Luppi's.

"Shit, yes!" In the blink of an eye, the blue-haired man rushed forward and thrust his renewed arm through his half-brother's chest. His new hand, dripping with sinew, broke through skin, muscle, and bone, and it emerged on the other side. Around his arm, his brother's body trembled, and his heart fibrillated.

Luppi gasped in shock and fury. "G-Grimm-j-jo-ow!" he coughed as river of blood spilled from his mouth. "W-what are you d-d-doing?! Y-you b-bast-tard!"

Lifting his other hand, Grimmjow grinned, a victorious light shining brightly in his eyes. "Just this. Bye bye, _former_ brother," he taunted, throwing the words back in his sibling's face.

An instant later, a vibrant blue Cero lit the hall, leaving nothing but steaming half a body in the place of the lavender-eyed boy.

The man's muscular shoulders shook. A moment later, he cackled loudly, reveling in the bloodshed. "Yes!" he howled. "My powers are back! I am the Sexta Espada, Grimmjow Jeagerjaques! Yes!"

Autumn eyes terrified and shocked, Orihime choked out, "Why?"

Immediately, the blue-haired male stopped celebrating. "What?" he snapped. "Why? Because he deserved it, that's why!"

"He was your _brother_," she whispered, her expression contorting with confusion and disgust. "No matter what he did to you, that's no excuse for murdering him!"

"So what?!" Grimmjow scoffed. Smirking, he shrugged and spat, "If it bothers you so much, just heal him, too!"

Tearfully, the princess rasped, "You don't get it, do you? He's _dead_! My power is unique, yes, and it is great, yes, but even I can't bring someone back if they're _dead_!"

"Well, how the hell do you know that if you don't try?!" the azure-eyed man retorted, irritated.

Taken aback, Orihime gasped for the breath that had suddenly left her. She blinked, and the corpse of her brother swimming in his own blood in a dark, dirty alleyway flashed in front of her eyes and aroused an emotion she was not accustomed to – anger. Real, burning anger that ate at her and seared her heart until she released it. With a spark in her gaze that matched his own, she challenged, "What makes you think I _haven't_ tried? I may be a princess in a kingdom that does not value war as much as your own, but I have seen more pain and death than I ever wanted to!" Unintimidated by his size and unafraid of his increasing rage, she stared into his blazing eyes and declared, "If you are ever hurt again, know this: I will never, never, _ever_ heal you just so you can kill someone else – never again."

"Princess," Aizen called. Completely undisturbed by the death of his son, he requested, "I understand your belief in the limits of your abilities, but if you would please attempt to heal Luppi, I would appreciate it."

Despite her grief and anger, Orihime did as she was asked. Luppi's body returned, and the blood on the floor vanished, but his soul did not return, just like it had been with Sora.

Contented by her display, the king confirmed, "Thank you, Princess Orihime. I apologize that you had to witness such an unpleasant end to sibling rivalry; I trust it will not demolish your open mind as you acclimate to our culture."

Under his gaze, she felt compelled to nod. However, she did not speak, holding her thoughts to herself.

Even as servants entered the room and removed Luppi's corpse, the urbane ruler smirked and ordered, "Excellent. Ulquiorra, show our guest to her quarters, won't you?"

Bowing, Ulquiorra replied, "As you wish, Lord Aizen." The pale man turned on his heel and strode out of the room, the amber-haired woman obediently at his side.

In silence, he led her through another series of halls. They walked for what seemed to be an eternity, turning what seemed to be a hundred times before he finally stopped. The door was twice the size of a normal one, but Ulquiorra turned the ornate gold handle and pushed it open as if it were as light as a feather. "These," he began, "will be your quarters."

He entered, and she followed behind him. Inquisitively, she inspected the room. It was fully furnished and possessed a colorful rug, a large bed, a side table, a circular dining table with a fruit bowl atop it and three chairs around it, a couch, and a currently empty bookshelf.

Two doors, one in each back corner, caught her attention. After dropping her pack on the bed, she peeked into one to find a washbowl, a mirror, a small cabinet full of cosmetics, and her own, private privy. Noting the one missing amenity, she asked, "Um… where is the bath?"

"Water is precious in Las Noches," Ulquiorra explained, disinterested in her exploration. "Only Lord Aizen possesses a private bath. The rest are public, though they are separated by gender."

Orihime blushed, but she did not argue. It would be a strange experience to bathe with other women, but she accepted it and realized she would have to adapt.

Next, she checked the other door. It opened far more than she had expected, revealing a closet as large as the one she had had in Karakura. Hundreds of outfits all of varying styles had been placed in there, but every single piece of clothing was white.

Suddenly, her mind was flooded with the image of Luppi's white clothing stained with blood. The salty, bitter taste stung her tongue as she felt her stomach flip violently. To Ulquiorra's surprise, she rushed back to the washroom and set about emptying her stomach into the toilet. The memorable tang of blood was joined with the burning sensation of bile and the strange, sweet, half-digested flavor of the pastries she had eaten the night before. She felt hot and cold all at the same time, sweating and shivering simultaneously. Even on her knees, she swooned.

Before she could fall to the floor, Ulquiorra knelt beside her and caught her. With a rag he had wet in the washbowl while she had been vomiting, he wiped the milky yellow excess from her lips. He helped her to her feet, supporting her almost entirely as he led her out into main room and laid her on the couch. After going to the washroom and rinsing the cloth, he returned and applied it to her throat and then her forehead.

Delirious, Orihime had not realized what had happened until she found herself staring up at the ceiling, an apple slice held to her lips. With trembling fingers, she took the piece of fruit and bit into it.

Watching her carefully as he sat in the chair he had relocated, Ulquiorra noted as she pursed her lips. "It is tart," he acknowledged as he cut another slice from the green apple with the blunt (by his standards) knife which had been in the fruit bowl. "However, it will settle your stomach."

Too weary to do anything else, the princess continued to nibble on the sour fruit. He fed her indirectly, handing her a new apple slice every time she had finished the previous one. As he had predicted, her stomach stopped churning, appeased by her offering.

"Why?" she whispered finally. Sitting up properly, she gazed at the emerald-eyed man imploringly and questioned, "Why would he do that?"

"Luppi had been tormenting him for years," Ulquiorra answered simply. Standing, he returned the knife to its place and elaborated, "The wounds you healed today – the internal injuries, the broken bones – they were not all new. As I understand it, due to one of the earliest beatings, when his arm was still raw and he could not fight well without two hands, Grimmjow had gained a tear in the lining of his stomach. It had slowly been eating away at his insides. At one point, a rib punctured his lung. He nearly died from that. He has been given more concussions than he could count." With a quiet exhale, he remarked, "It was a miracle he lasted long enough for you to heal him."

"All from that boy?" Although she still mourned his death, she could not help but wonder what kind of insanity had possessed him.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because," Ulquiorra replied as he returned to his seat, "among Aizen's children, rivalries are common. There is no such thing as playful teasing; no such thing as familial ties outside of your own mother's offspring. Everyone competes, vying for Lord Aizen's attention."

"And you?" Orihime ventured hesitantly. "Where do you fit in to that vicious circle?"

His big, beautiful emerald eyes blinked. Had she ever seen him blink before? As he understood, a hardness came over his countenance, replacing the intellectual apathy with stone. "I am not one of Lord Aizen's sons," he corrected coldly. "I am loyal to him by oath, not by blood."

"Oh." Blushing, the girl hid beneath the few loose strands of her hair. "I'm sorry."

When he said nothing more, she sighed and asked quietly, "How old was he? He couldn't have been much older than I am."

"He was not." Stuffing his hands into his pockets as he sat straight, Ulquiorra divulged, "Luppi was sixteen."

Her autumn eyes widened. "Sixteen?" she choked. "Only sixteen?"

"Hatred does not make a distinction between ages," the pale man remarked offhandedly. "Nor does death."

"I know, but-!"

"Woman," Ulquiorra interrupted. He captured her with his gaze, the incredible intensity and color of his irises hypnotizing her and clearing her mind of anything other than anticipation for his next words. "Do not antagonize over this. It was outside of your power to prevent, just as it was not in your power to reverse. There is no purpose in dwelling on it."

After a short moment, Orihime whispered the simple version of what he had said. "It wasn't my fault."

"No. It was not."

"I just wish I could have…"

"You could not," Ulquiorra replied, not needing the rest of the sentence to answer her. "Wishing achieves nothing."

Finally, she was silent. Staring at her hands, she sighed and closed her eyes, slowly accepting what had happened.

When she seemed to have some kind of peace, Ulquiorra stood. "I will return," he assured once she looked at him in a wordless plea. "From now on, a servant or I will bring your meals here to you unless you are specifically requested to dine with Lord Aizen or another member of the court."

"Thank you," Orihime peeped. With a blush, she glanced at her fingers again and added, "For everything."

_What have I done that is worthy of thanks?_ he wondered. He had taken her from her home and brought her to a place full of heartless people like himself. Why would she thank him? Nonetheless, he nodded in acknowledgement.

Before he could leave, however, she asked suddenly, "Ulquiorra, where are your quarters?"

Not at all surprised by the question and actually rather impressed by her prudence, Ulquiorra answered, "My room is in the next hall down. Lord Aizen judged it to be convenient to have your accommodations so close to my own."

Orihime smiled sweetly and affirmed, "All right. Thank you. That's good to know."

Again, Ulquiorra nodded, not sure how to respond otherwise to her thanks.

When she said nothing more, he left, leaving her alone to rest in perfect, terrifying silence.

* * *

><p><strong>Y'all notice how Ulquiorra's demeanor changes when he's not faced with people he doesn't particularly like (like Murciélago and ORIHIME!)? <strong>

**I shall commence with the squees.**

**SQUEEEES.**

**Love, Amaranth**


End file.
